Restless Spirit
by conception.creation
Summary: Quick thinking saves Kitty from assassination – unfortunately, she’s now without a body. Can she solve her own murder in time to stop a massive conspiracy threatening Britain itself? BxK
1. Life After Death

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: I'm back! Thank you Christmas holidays for finally giving me some time to spare for writing. I hope you guys enjoy this story. Many thanks to Lady Noir, my fantastic beta, for editing this chapter. Happy Reading!

There was no moon, the night of Kitty Jones' murder.

The street was swathed in a darkness broken only by the hazy glow of an occasional streetlamp. A weedy string of Christmas lights drooped from the neighbors' rain gutter in half-hearted acknowledgement of the festive season. The only sound was the soft whirl of the wind as large wet snowflakes wheeled between pools of light before dropping to the slushy pavement.

Tucked safely away from the cold and dark, Kitty was seated comfortably on the bare wooden floor of her study; a mug of steaming hot-chocolate in one hand, a stick of chalk in the other. Her dark eyebrows knotted in concentration as she pressed the tip of the chalk firmly against the smooth floor and drew it across the wooden surface in one long, even, stroke. With a critical eye, she evaluated the thick white line she had created, then, with a nod of approval, continued.

Another line of white chalk joined the first, and soon another, and another. Soft, curving lines formed the circumference of a wide circle; small, delicate lines tangled into spidery runes; bold, straight lines inscribed the star-shaped core of the figure itself – a perfectly executed pentacle.

Kitty rubbed the dust from her palms and stepped back to survey her handiwork. Not bad, especially since the benign attitude of the creature she was summoning would have, for most anyone else, been an ample excuse to slack off on the finer points of pentacle-crafting. Not that Bartimaeus was exactly benign when any master other than herself was concerned.

Kitty half considered testing out her creation early and summoning him up right that second – these days, she spent so much of her time with the djinni that even the brief absences when he recovered in the other place made her feel isolated and pathetically eager to see him again; and even if that wasn't so, it was still rather depressing to be alone on Christmas Eve.

She took a thoughtful sip of hot-chocolate and tapped one slippered foot against the floor. No, she decided, as much as she was inclined to bring the djinni back to Earth, she couldn't deprive him of his rest. They had already agreed that she would summon him Christmas Day. That way, she would have someone to spend the holiday with, and he could be introduced to the marvels of British Christmas traditions – which he, of course, was so_ very_ eager to experience.

Just as well, she supposed. She'd have to go to sleep at some point tonight, and if she left him unsupervised, he'd probably get bored and start breaking things.

She took one last longing glance at the expectant pentacle before exiting the study. The door clicked softly as she shut it behind her.

Exactly two hours later she went to bed, unaware of the eyes that watched the light from her window fade to darkness.

Across the street, the assassins clustered in the shadows cast by the awning of an empty fish shop. As the window darkened, the leader gestured silently with one black-gloved hand. In perfect harmony, five of their number slipped silently from their concealment and slid from shadow to shadow, creeping towards the small brick house on the other side of the street.

One-by-one, they scaled up the shear surface of the wall like large, black, spiders scuttling up a fence post. The first pulled himself up onto the sloping roof and looked out over the street. The city lay in a deep slumber, anticipating the dawn. Silent and empty – save for the handful of dark figures that still lingered beneath the awning. It was time.

In the cool darkness of her room, Kitty was startled awake by a high-pitched wail. Her eyes flew open as she recognized the sound – the security alarm. The defense Nexus had been breached. She bolted out of bed and hurried down the stairs.

She shivered apprehensively as she entered the empty living room. The ornaments of the small artificial Christmas tree on the side table glimmered in the faint light from the window, and the sole stocking hanging from the mantle flapped gently back and forth, as if in a breeze. Frowning in puzzlement, Kitty crept closer.

Suddenly there was a faint scrambling sound from above, as if a bat were trapped in the chimney. Kitty choked back a scream as something – some_one_ dropped down in a cloud of ash and landed in the fireplace with the tense grace of a cat.

_What's going on?_ Her mind demanded as her feet carried her from the room. In a moment of panic she paused in the hallway, eyes darting frantically back and forth. She needed a weapon against the intruder. Yes, there – in the kitchen.

She darted into the kitchen and pulled open the nearest drawer. She rummaged through it, tossing spoons and spatulas over her shoulder – where were the knives? She pulled open the next drawer. Too late.

The black clad assassin tackled her to the ground, slamming her hard against the tiled floor. Kitty gazed up wide-eyed into the face of her attacker, not recognizing the cold blue eyes that peered out of the narrow eye-slits of his mask. Gloved hands wrapped around her neck, the rough leather chafing the vulnerable skin of her throat. Gritting her teeth, Kitty reached for the man's belt. Her fingers wrapped tentatively around the rubber handle of the knife resting in its sheath. She slid it out silently as the assassin's grip tightened. With a sympathetic wince, she thrust it down into his exposed back.

The assassin shuddered and twitched. The fingers that dug into her skin went limp. Kitty sighed in relief and pushed the heavy body off of her.

Slowly she rose to her feet, keeping a wary eye on the motionless corpse. It was high time to call the police. She made to exit the room, only to come up short.

Another man stood in the doorway, dressed like the first. He grinned at her and twirled his blade lazily between his fingers.

_Bartimaeus, where are you when I need you?_She thought as the towering assassin stepped forwards, backing Kitty against the solid counter. If only she had summoned the djinni tonight!

The assassin moved closer, an ugly leer in his eyes. In a burst of instinctive self-preservation, Kitty snatched a heavy ceramic bowl from the countertop behind her and brought it down hard upon the assassin's head. The man crumpled beneath the blow, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

Kitty snatched up the knife, then leapt to her feet and raced from the room, not sparing a second glace for the corpses that lay cooling on her clean kitchen floor. From the living room she could faintly hear the scrambling sound of more people crawling down the chimney.

She made for the stairs, thinking of the pentacle in the study. If she could reach it in time she could summon Bartimaeus…

Kitty halted in her tracks. Another dark figure awaited her at the landing at the top of the stairs, carrying a blade longer than her arm. This one wore no gloves, and Kitty noticed the backs of his hands bore strange crisscrossed scars that seemed vaguely familiar. She glanced back over her shoulder. Two more assassins stood at the foot of the stairs, blocking her escape – she was trapped.

The man with the large blade lunged for her, swinging his sword in a shimmering arc. Kitty thrust out her knife; the two blades clashed with a sharp metallic ring. With a strength born of desperation, Kitty wrested the sword from her opponent's hands and sent it clattering down the steps. The assassin reached out, trying belatedly to snatch it back, and putting himself off-balance in the process. With a snarl, Kitty grabbed the man's shoulders and swung him around, sending him tumbling down the stairs after his sword.

Unfortunately, his other arm came around and latched on to the collar of her pajamas, pulling Kitty along with him.

They bounced down the stairs in a tangled knot of limbs, picking up speed and bowling over the two assassins that lurked below, knocking them clean off their feet.

Kitty sat up painfully and rubbed the back of her neck. Her spine was screaming and her pale arms were already darkening with bruises. The assassins lay still around her. Kitty gave them a suspicious glance. Two chests heaved up and down as their owners breathed slow, unconscious breaths. The third was still and pale. Kitty's small knife gleamed from its position wedged between his ribs, where it must have lodged itself during their fall.

One of his hands, she noticed, was clenched into a tight fist around a small vibrating globe. Too late, she recognized it for what it was – an activated Elemental Sphere. _Get away!_ Her mind screamed, but before she could move more than a foot, the world was lost in an explosion of white heat. Her vision faltered and went black as waves of fire and earth and air washed over her.

_Stay conscious Kitty._

Her body felt heavy and numb, her brain spun in useless circles. All she could hear was the deafening roar behind her ears, like an ocean wave crashing over her.

At last the confusion subsided, and Kitty's eyelids fluttered open. She found herself lying on her back, blurry eyes gazing up at the cracked ceiling. She felt almost detached from her body; as though she were inside it, yet not fully sharing in its experiences. In her dream-like state, she glanced down at her body, vaguely motivated by the need to assess the damage. Immediately she regretted it, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Kitty had seen her fair share of battles, and she knew with brutal certainty that if she didn't get to a hospital right away, she was going to die.

The walls shook as something exploded down the hall.

_They've broken down the front door,_ she noted to herself. If she didn't do something right now, then this would be the end. She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the protestations of her battered body. Gritting her teeth in firm resolve, she began pulling herself up the stairs, white-knuckled fingers grasping at the step above and dragging her unresponsive body further and further towards the study.

_So close._

Firm footsteps echoed behind her. Kitty reached up, stretching a weary arm towards the doorknob. The door swung open, and Kitty dragged herself inside.

She flopped down in the center of the waiting pentacle she had drawn not two hours before. Her eyes closed as she took heaving breaths to steady herself. Then, with a shaky hand, she drew her palm across the chalk line, breaching the perimeter of the circle with a smear of sticky red. In a breathless voice, she began to chant.

The sound of muffled footsteps on the stairs, and a shout of discovery. Perhaps the assassins had caught the mutter of her voice as she spoke the backwards incantation. Her time was running out. A name passed her lips.

"Bartimaeus…"

She whispered it again, her voice growing faint as her life seeped away.

"Bartimaeus..."

Suddenly the door burst open. Black boots tromped across the shiny floor as assassins flooded the room. Kitty's voice was as soft as a prayer as, with her final breath, she completed the spell.

"Bartimaeus!"


	2. Ghosts and Djinn

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: And here it is - chapter 2! Edgestrife, Joeylejoker, Duckweed, dyingimmortal, Tane, Nari, and Allendra: thank you so much for your reviews last chapter, it's lovely to hear from you guys. Special thanks to Lady Noir who beta-ed this chapter. By the way... tomorrow is my one-year anniversary of writing fanfiction!

The spell reverberated through the Other Place with the clarity of a ringing bell. The spirits stirred from their half-sleeping state, filling the void with the murmur of uneasy thoughts as the sharp sound of the incantation pierced through wisps of essence in search of the subject of its supernatural call.

Idly, I cracked open a metaphorical eye as the hubbub pulled me from my pseudo-slumber. We didn't get many summons these days, and the ones we did receive tended to create a bit of a stir. I wondered what poor wretch was destined for slavery this time around.

Suddenly the feverish chant stilled and a single word floated through the ether, winding itself through my essence with the gentleness of a caress.

_'Bartimaeus…'_

I balked. This summons couldn't possibly be for me – I'd had no summons – zip, zero, zilch – for the past six years. Except from Kitty of course. [ spell wasn't hers either. Kitty wasn't planning on summoning me until morning, and though time runs differently in the Other Place, my internal clock was telling me there were still several hours left before I could expect the girl to come calling. Kitty was nothing if not punctual.] The spell surrounding me evidently believed otherwise, coiling itself even deeper into my being.

"Hold up! You've got the wrong djinni!" I protested, struggling against the binds.

_'Bartimaeus… Bartimaeus…' _Each syllable was whispered more faintly then the last, as if the voice that was uttering them was slowly fading away. To the casual listener that voice might have seemed to be weakening, but my sensitive faculties could perceive the strength behind the words – the raw power to pierce the boundaries of the world and cross the infinite voids between dimensions.

Two more tendrils of magic wrapped around me as the spell once more found its mark. I tensed, waiting for my bonds to inevitably constrict, to truss me up like a pig for the slaughter and hurl me into the rift between Earth and the Other Place, but nothing happened. The spell hung expectant in the air around me, as though waiting for some kind of a signal. A signal from _me_.

That's when it hit me.

This wasn't a summons at all – at least not the classical type. This was the phenomenon known as Ptolemy's gate. This was a request, an appeal for an invitation. And I knew just who was on the other end of the line. The question was why.

Why was Kitty Jones asking permission to enter the Other Place? Well, there was only one way to find out. I accepted the spell, and the threads around me dissolved into a hurricane of magic that sped out with a thundering howl. The force of the concussion ripped through the delicate fabric of the Other Place, and burst into the emptiness beyond, hissing horribly like air sucked into a vacuum.

I collected my essence together with whatever dignity I could manage and waited. [2. You'll have to excuse me if I come off as a bit shaken. Ptolemy's Gate was a rather showy spell, after all. I can still remember the first time Ptolemy tried it – I'd thought the blasted boy had inadvertently caused the apocalypse. That's what can happen when you play with world-shaking, extra-dimensional magic, boys and girls.]

It wasn't long before I could sense a foreign presence amongst us. Something a little too ordered, a little too precise, like an intricate Celtic knot in a bowl of tangled spaghetti noodles. I reached out with my mind.

_'What are you doing here Kitty? I thought you'd had enough of the Other Place.'_ There was a pause, as Kitty attempted to pull her drifting essence together. Then she spoke, her voice hesitating and uncertain.

_'Is that you, Bartimaeus? What's happening to me? Where… wait, this is the Other Place, isn't it?'_

I pulled a few clouds of drifting mist together into Ptolemy's familiar form, purely to allow myself to paste a frown on its face and cross its arms in an appropriately confused manner.

_'Are you trying to tell me that you came here by accident? I find it difficult to believe that you draw pentacles and mumble incantations in your sleep.'_

Kitty sighed, and a few milky strands escaped from the loose ball of essence she had been trying to gather herself into while I was speaking.

_'I don't know, you could be right. I just can't remember coming here at all. Come to think of it, I can't remember much of this past week at all.'_

Well, that was disconcerting. I wondered if the stress of the Other Place could be eating away at Kitty's memories. She hadn't been affected like this last time, but she was weaker now. She'd never fully recovered from her last trip here, and maybe having already destroyed her physical health, this dimension was now attacking her mind.

_'Kitty,'_ I said warily, '_We have to get you back home. You're not strong enough to survive the Other Place this time around. Now sit back and I'll send you off…'_

_'Wait, no!'_ She cried, her blob like form falling to pieces. _I can't go back yet; I just know it. It's not safe._

I sat Ptolemy down cross-legged and stared levelly at the dissolving ball before me. The boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, bobbing gently up and down as he floated in the abyss, like some sort of levitating guru.

_'What do you remember?'_ I asked.

_'Just snatches of things. Fire, Ice. Reaching hands. A knife – Er… look, can you stop wobbling around like that? I'm getting vertigo here.'_

_'Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable.'_ The girl's orderly human mind needed some point of reference. I manipulated the mist around us, spreading it out flat beneath our feet. [3. Uh, my feet I suppose. Kitty didn't have feet so much as…globular protrusions, I guess you could call them.] A translucent approximation of grass sprang up from the ground, and pale, wraith-like trees unwound their slender branches overhead. I placed my feet on the ground and turned to the insubstantial blob that was Kitty. '_Better?'_

_'Show off_,' she grumbled, molding her form to something a little less vague.

_'So back to what you were saying, then. Do you think you were attacked?'_

The now loosely humanoid shape nodded, its head flopping back and forth on its long, filamentous neck.

_'I suppose so. Perhaps I was attacked and fled here to escape?'_

_'If you did, then you've made a big mistake, _I replied. _Your mind might be safe as a dollar in a Swiss bank here on the other side of the Gate, but your body's still lying down there, right where you left it. It's completely exposed. '_

The opalescent blob grew even paler. '_So what you mean is, they could be killing me right now? This very moment?'_

_'Well, yes.'_

_'What's going to happen to me? Will I suddenly just fall over dead? Drift away into the mist?' _The girl was starting to panic.

_'Shh, calm down, Kitty.'_ I tried to pat her shoulder comfortingly, though the gesture was rather undermined when a sizable portion of arm-shaped mist broke off under my hand. I scooped up as much as I could and offered it to her apologetically.

_'Uh, here you go. And though I can't say anything for certain, I don't think you're going to suddenly die on me. Essence can survive without a body – even human essence. Just look at ghosts for example.'_

_'Ghosts?'_

_'Human souls that never made it to the afterlife. Trapped on Earth with no body to inhabit. They're not all that different from spirits, though infinitely more rare. I'd say worst case scenario is they destroy your body and you remain here for the rest of eternity as a ghost.'_

_'Eternity? Here?'_ The one-armed figure glanced into the swirling abyss beyond the meadow with more then a touch of skepticism. [4. Yes, okay, the Other Place can get a little dull, but the point is it's _restful._After all of the endless wars and intrigues magicians put us through, we djinn can use a little monotony in our lives.]

_'Don't worry, I promise the company will be substantially better than anything you're used to on Earth,'_ I said with a wink. Kitty attempted to smile back, though the result was more of a slightly disturbing carnivorous twist of the lips.

Our jolly reunion was cut short when the world around us suddenly shook under the power of another summoning incantation.

_'Good grief, what is that?'_ Kitty asked.

_'Magic,' _I replied. '_Someone's being summoned.'_

The waves of sound swarmed over the Other Place, ricocheting off swells of essence, and bearing – you guessed it – straight for the two of us.

The spell swooped low over the colourless meadow, shearing off the tops of the tree branches. It veered around and circled closer, spiraling around me like a plummeting satellite. Around and around, tighter and tighter. I dug in my heels, resisting the magic with all the willpower I could muster; if there was ever a bad time to be summoned, this was it. As always, all my best efforts were to no avail. The spell flexed like a snake, ensnaring my essence in its coils, and dragged me down into the vacuum of nothingness that lay between worlds.

_'Kitty,'_ I shouted as I was borne away, '_Just sit tight, I'll be back in a minute!'_

That, however, was the moment when I realized the unfortunate truth. Kitty wasn't standing there on the other side of the rift. No, she was right there beside me, being dragged down to that regrettable dustbin we like to call Earth.


	3. In Requiem

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews! Nari: Your review made my day. *hugs*! Edgestrife: Up until now, I've been representing footnotes with a different devise for each story I write. This time I decided to use square brackets, mainly because I wanted to be able to use round brackets without people assuming it's a footnote. Are the square brackets too annoying? Dyingimmortal, Tane, joeylejoker, Measuringtape, Allendra, and Lisette (Nice to see you, Lisette!) thanks for leaving your comments. Last but not least, thank you to Lady Noir, my awesome beta, for her corrections on this chapter.

The physical appearance of my latest master did little to inspire fear or awe. Not that any of the magicians of present-day England were particularly impressive, but the specimen in the pentacle opposite me was a noteworthy example of just how far London had fallen from power.

For one thing, he was practically a kid. I'd say seventeen at best, and so skinny that he almost disappeared when viewed from the side. The exertion of the summons had left him panting for breath, stringy red hair plastered to the pale freckled skin of his overly large forehead. He stared at Ptolemy with watery bug-eyes, as though he hadn't expected his spell to work. I knew for a certainty that I could make short work of him and be done with it. I had things to do, like finding out where Kitty had gotten to, for instance.

The kid cleared his throat. "Bartimaeus, right?"

Ptolemy tapped his foot impatiently, not dignifying the question with a response. The boy's eyes followed the motion of the bare brown toes, and he suddenly frowned.

"What, pray tell, is _that?_" He pointed accusingly at the floor beneath my feet. I glanced down. A murky grayish substance, half liquid, half gas, ebbed and flowed around my ankles. Was I leaking essence or something? Wait, no. That wasn't mine…

"Oops, must have had an accident," I said quickly, kicking Kitty's essence out of sight behind me. [1. It would seem that she'd been sloshing between my toes all along, while I had been fretting about her wellbeing. Of course, in hindsight it made sense that she was having trouble holding a form. She'd had little opportunity to practice.] "You know how things are; it's a long trip from the Other Place, and when you've got to go…"

The kid held up his hands. "I don't want to here about it! Do I need to get you house-trained or something?"

"What you need to do," I folded my arms across my chest in an intimidating manner, "is to release me. I'm way out of your league, kid. And even if I wasn't, you'd still be well advised to send me on my way. If I'm not mistaken, there's a national injunction against summoning me. Something about services rendered to humanity? Ring a bell?"

"I'm aware of your exemption from servitude, yes. However, I thought today you could make an exception. You see, I'm a recent member of the police department – hired on the strength of my magic education, you understand. These days there aren't many of us who can still craft a proper summons. So anyways, they've saddled me with my first case, and I'm suddenly in need of a relatively powerful spirit. The problem is: I'm terrible."

I blinked. "Come again?"

"I'm terrible. I can barely keep a mouler under control. I can't count the number of times I've nearly killed myself. My master tried to cover it up when I applied to the police, but the fact is I'm just no good at any of this."

I threw up my arms with a hopeless roll of my eyes. "What a thing to admit to a djinni! What are you, a half-wit? Have you got the faintest idea what we to do to bunglers like you?"

The boy winced. He'd probably had plenty of opportunity to experience _exactly_ what spirits liked to do to incompetent magicians. "Just hang on and let me explain," he said. "There's a reason I chose to summon you in particular–"

"Yes, yes, I know all about it. You heard the story about Kitty, Nat and I; assumed I was a happy, fluffy, human-lover who wouldn't hurt a fly; and figured I'd leave you alone if you summoned me, right? Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck pal, and if you're counting on living another second you'll release me right this minute, because–"

"Stop!" The boy cried. "Just let me explain, alright?" I paused mid-rant and gave him a glare that set him quivering in his ratty tennis shoes. The boy paled and cleared his throat. "Yes," he said meekly, "I know the story about Mandrake and Ms. Jones. Who doesn't? And if you'll only listen for a moment, that's the reason you're here. The case I've been assigned to is the Kathleen Jones murder case."

Murder. Kitty _had _been killed then. I sensed the grayish slosh behind me grow restless at the news.

"The Kathleen Jones murder case," I repeated. "Kitty was murdered?" The boy nodded.

"And they assigned _you_ the case?" Hesitant, the boy nodded again.

"You. A spotty-faced kid with zero field experience and pathetic magical ability, in charge of investigating the death of a national hero and worldwide celebrity?"

Wide-eyed and pasty, the boy gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Do you have a name, kid?"

"J-James Bostwick, sir," he stammered. I rocked back on my heels and looked him over.

"Well, Jimmy my friend; it seems you're going to need all the help you can get."

oooooooooooooo

Kitty did her best to refrain from speaking as Bartimaeus and the young magician casually discussed her recent demise. The last thing she wanted was for Bostwick to discover that he had inadvertently summoned_ two_ spirits to his side. The boy seemed innocuous enough, but it was better safe than sorry wherever perpetual enslavement was concerned. Thus, she held her tongue and tried to concentrate on the bizarre sensation of being utterly formless.

"I'd like you to accompany me to the funeral this afternoon," Bostwick was saying. Idly, Kitty wondered how much time had past since her death. It must have been quite some time ago if the funeral was already being arranged. She let her essence spread over the ground, a thin coating of steaming silver liquid that stopped abruptly at the pentacle's edges.

Would the pentacle contain her, or did it only bind Bartimaeus? With a surge of curiosity, she let herself trickle over the intricate chalk symbols and onto the unmarked wooden floor beyond.

"Please remain in this room until I come for you." She heard Bostwick say. The gangly boy made a quick gesture to release the djinni from the pentacle, then stepped over Kitty with a grimace of distaste, and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Bartimaeus leapt from the chalk circle and crouched down beside her drifting form.

"Kitty, stop that! He's going to notice a creeping puddle sliding all over his floor!"

She drew herself up into a semi-solid silver mound. "I was able to leave the pentacle," she mused, ignoring Bartimaeus' objections, "so I must not be included in the spell."

The djinni grimaced and stuck out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah, you're very lucky. Unlike some of us poor, abject, slaves."

"But why? I was dragged here too. If your master summoned me, then shouldn't I be bound to serve him too?"

"Yes, _if_ he summoned you. Which he obviously didn't." The Egyptian boy sat back on his heels and eyed her speculatively. "That kid definitely wasn't expecting you, so there's no way he called you here. My guess is that the Other Place expelled you after your host, i.e. _moi_, disappeared – just as spirits are expelled from Earth when _their_ Masters are killed."

"I see. When you were summoned, my link to the Other Place was severed and I was sent back."

The Egyptian boy nodded approvingly. "You've got it. And now you're back home, just as free as when you were alive."

"Alive," Kitty repeated somewhat dejectedly. "I still can't believe I'm dead. Why would someone try to kill me?"

"Are you kidding?" The djinni stared at her with a raised brow. "You've got more enemies then I can count. Let's see," The djinni held up a hand and began counting off on his fingers. "There's the dispossessed magicians who blame you for the fall of their empire, the hard-line rebels who think you sold out by working with a magician, the foreign leaders who see you as the only thing preventing the total collapse of their enemy nation, the politicians who see you as a political rival, the commoners who are scared by your frequent promotion of djinn rights, not to mention all of _my_ enemies who hate you for associating with me…"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture!" Kitty had sunk lower at each new item on the list, and was now spread flat over the floor like a metallic pancake. Bartimaeus looked down at her sympathetically.

"Poor you; everyone's on your back and here you are, all blobbish and disembodied. Why don't you try taking a proper form?"

"I'm not particularly good at it, as I'm sure you remember," Kitty grunted.

The condescending twist of the djinni's mouth told Kitty he remembered quite clearly and fondly, and if she'd had proper arms, she would have slapped that knowing smirk right off his face.

"Well," Bartimaeus replied, "I'm afraid you don't have much choice any more. Your body's gone and you have to make do. You're practically a spirit now, in fact. No one is going to hand you a form on a silver platter; you've got to make one yourself."

"Far easier said then done," Kitty sniffed.

"All it takes is a little concentration. Remember how you used to look and focus your essence into the shape."

Kitty tried, she really did. She could see her old face in her mind's eye, hovering before her like a spectre. She even managed to pull herself into a basic bipedal form that rather resembled a starfish, but no matter how hard she tried to hold it together, the shape melted like jell-o in the hot sun and her essence ran in sticky silver rivulets through the shallow ruts in the floorboards.

"This is hopeless," she moaned.

"Nonsense, you almost had it a moment ago. All you need is a little practice."

The Egyptian boy's head suddenly perked up at the approach of awkward adolescent footsteps that echoed softly down the hallway.

"Oops, looks like we're out of time." In a blinking, the djinni was rifling through the contents of the shabby desk in the corner, and unscrewing the lid of a small bottle of paste.

"Get in," he ordered, dumping out as much of the stringy white contents as possible.

"What?" Kitty balked.

"Now!" He swept up the silvery essence through the mouth of the bottle, and suddenly Kitty found herself in the smallest, stickiest space she had ever been crammed into in her life.

Her vision was cut off abruptly as Bartimaeus slipped the paste bottle into the back pocket of Ptolemy's pants, just as the door creaked open.

"Alright," Bostwick's voice was difficult to discern through the bottle's thick glass walls. "Let's go. We have a funeral to attend."


	4. Rest in Peace

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Hello again, guys! My profuse thanks to EdgeStrife, Measuringtape, joeylejoker (by the way, now it's time to update _your_ story, my friend.), Nari (Ron Weasley? Ha, I guess he does match Bostwick's description. Oops!), Duckweed, The-Quoi, and Allendra, for leaving me a review. And thank you to Lady Noir for beta-ing this chapter.

Edit: By the way, Lady Noir, who's been beta-ing my stories since midway through Monomyth, is an excellent author herself. She's just published a Wicked story, called "The Price of Defiance," and I encourage you all to check it out, especially if you like Wicked. Her story is posted under the name A Evans, and you can find her under my favourite authors. Now on with the story!

The funeral was chaos. A sea of mourners dressed in black from head to toe lined the streets as the casket – draped with the obligatory British flag – was drawn past by a team of midnight-coloured horses. A marching band followed, hacking out a skull-rattling funeral march to assault civilian ears as they wound their way towards the graveyard outside of the city.

A regiment of soldiers trailed the procession, stopping every so often to fire a barrage of ammunition into the air [1. Although why it was customary to honour the dead by piercing the heavens (where the deceased was supposedly resting) with bullets was beyond me.]

As the spectacle passed, the weeping crowd closed in behind it. They trailed after Kitty's corpse like moths to light, uttering sounds of lamentation and woe all the way to the cemetery gates. There they were met by a somber line of suit-clad politicians whose faces were unfamiliar to me – probably because very few of them were magicians. I did spot Rebecca Piper however, conspicuous as she was in the centre of the group. That Nathaniel's assistant had managed to hold on to her power as Prime Minister for the past three years, in spite of the near-constant stream of political changes that threatened to dethrone her, was a testament to the unexpected resourcefulness and ambition hidden within that tiny, unassuming frame. She stood in all five feet of legislative glory, at the head of the group of stony-eyed government officials, welcoming the arrival of Kitty's body with measured deference. The funeral was, in short, a send-off worthy of Napoleon himself.

As I stood with Bostwick at the cemetery's gilded entrance, I thanked my lucky stars that Kitty was tucked blindly away in my pocket, because something told me she wouldn't be too impressed with all this ridiculous pomp and fanfare surrounding her demise.

"Brothers and sisters," began a black-robed man, perched above the masses on a wooden podium. He was shouting into his microphone to be heard above the crowd. "We are gathered here to mourn the loss of a great woman, a woman of courage and integrity, a woman who stood for freedom…"

Bostwick shifted uncomfortably beside me, stamping his feet in the watery slush. His droopy eyes were focused on some point in the vast crowd. I followed the gaze of the gangly youth and noticed an impeccably dressed, black-haired woman shoving her way towards us. Something about her sharp cheekbones and sour expression rang a bell. I nudged the boy beside me.

"Someone you know?" The woman's icy eyes strayed from us for a moment as she paused to kick a little blonde girl out of her path.

"That's my boss," Bostwick replied, "Jane Farrar. She's our Police Chief."

Jane Farrar. Oh yes, I remembered her now – Nat's little girlfriend. The chick was bad news, if I ever saw it. She had disappeared the night of the Demon Revolt, and had conveniently returned to her old job only after the destruction and political turmoil had been cleaned up nearly a year later. There were whispers going around that she'd spent the intervening time cowering in Prague, under the wing of the new Czech Emperor who wasn't particularly fond of the British.

Finally free of the crowd, the shady politician stood before us. She placed her fists on her emaciated hips and stared Bostwick down until the kid was quivering pathetically.

"Well…?" She lingered on the word for an absurd amount of time before continuing, "Have you got anything worthwhile to report, James?"

Bostwick turned an unfortunate crimson colour – a direct result of his sudden inability to breathe, I suspect.

"I, I- no, I've only just begun the investigation," the boy stuttered. Instead of meeting his employer's eye, the boy was nervously inspecting the razor-like tips of her shoes. "B-But I'm sure something will turn up in no time!" His head shot up and he made a goofy, hopeful, grimace that was probably intended to be a reassuring smile. Jane looked down at him coolly.

"James, it's become painfully obvious over the last week that you're nothing more than an idiot." Bostwick flinched, and his eager grin wobbled. Jane leaned in for the kill. "If you can't solve a simple murder case like this," she cooed in his ear, "Well, then, I'm afraid we won't have much use for you in the police service. Do you understand?" Wide-eyed, the boy nodded.

Jane straightened up and readjusted the collar of her fitted blazer. "Good. Have a preliminary report on your findings on my desk on Monday." She took a step back as though to leave, when suddenly her eyes flicked over to me.

"Do I know you, demon?" She asked suspiciously as she wrinkled her nose and peered at me through her contact lenses.

"I don't think so, ma'am," I said as deferentially as I could, "The name's Quingu."

Bostwick's forehead twitched, but he didn't contradict me. Jane's suspicious expression dropped off her face, leaving behind a look of patronizing boredom.

"Well, then. Goodbye, Mr. Bostwick. I'll see you tomorrow morning." And with that, she turned her back on us and stalked off in the direction of her limousine. I watched silently until her driver opened the door and she slipped inside next to an indistinct figure that I couldn't quite make out through the tinted windows.

I turned to Bostwick as they drove away. "Nice broad, that one. What was she doing here? She never liked Kitty."

"That hardly matters," the boy scratched his nose in an absent way. Apparently he was still feeling rather nervous and out of sorts. "Everybody's here today. They have to put in an appearance or they'd lose face with the people. She was a very popular public figure, you know."

My eyes narrowed. "So is _that_ why we're here?"

Bostwick shrugged. "Not really. Nobody would notice whether or not an unimportant underling like me attended the funeral of someone like Ms. Jones."

"So then we're here because…?" I prompted.

Bostwick's eyes grew distant as he watched mourners encircle the coffin. "No reason. I thought I ought to come pay my respects. It's only because of her that people like me are even allowed to study magic."

"Because that brings you _so_ much happiness," I scoffed. Bostwick made no sign that he had heard.

"Maybe," he said eventually in a tight voice, "You should leave me alone for a bit. Stay in this general area and come back when the ceremony is over."

"You got it," I said eagerly. And with a bound, Ptolemy was off.

oooooooooooooo

"My God, what are they doing _now_?"

I'd finally released Kitty from her miniature prison after settling down on a secluded rooftop that afforded a nice view of the crowded cemetery. After a few brief (and frustrating) attempts to recreate her original form, Kitty had finally given up and settled on the simpler form of a garden slug. Her stalked eyes swayed back and forth as she strained to get a good view of the proceedings below.

"It's just a small show of affection, that's all," I assured her. [2. At the moment, the crowd was showering the coffin with a mountainous pile of gaudy wreaths and bouquets. I half-wondered if the pallbearers would be able to lift the bedecked box off the carriage, or if they would be crushed by the shear weight of the vegetation.]

I gently pinched the slug's oozy middle between forefinger and thumb and attempted to pry it from the moldy shingles. The slimy flesh beneath my fingers suddenly became wispy and insubstantial, as if it were dribbling away.

"Pull yourself together, Kitty," I muttered, meaning it quite literally. Carefully I scooped up the little melting slug and placed it on my shoulder where it could more easily observe the funeral below.

"That's a small show of affection?" The slug asked incredulously. "I'd love to know what you'd expect to be done in _your_ memory."

"That's irrelevant," I said pompously, "Since I don't plan on dying."

"I didn't plan on dying either," Kitty muttered darkly.

The statement was sobering, and for a moment we didn't dare speak, letting it hang ominously in the air as somber organ music played and Kitty's coffin began its slow descent into the ground. I shielded my eyes as the wind whipped fiercely around us, the odd snowflake riding on its heels, dancing in irregular spiral patterns.

"My parents are here," Kitty said finally. Her voice had a strange empty quality that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Which ones are they?" I asked curiously.

"The middle-aged couple up there on the platform. They're probably just _loving_ all this attention." She made a bitter scoffing sound in her throat.

"Uh, I take it you don't get on too well with your family?"

"No," Kitty chuckled dryly, "We haven't seen each other for years. They sold me out to Mandrake, and we've had no contact ever since. And now they show up after I'm dead so they can stand on stage and accept condolences from important people like they have some right to be here! The truth is they _wanted_ me to die."

I craned my neck to face the slug on my shoulder, only to find it had been replaced by an extremely weather-beaten moth. "Are you sure, Kitty? That's pretty cold, even for humans."

The moth flapped its wings irritably. "They cared more for the government's approval then for their own daughter. They were nothing but sheep, all starry-eyed, and willing to follow anyone who'd lead them. And all of those people down there, mourning me as if I was some kind of saint - they're all sheep too. They were hoping to blindly follow me, just like they followed the magicians before me. Times change, Bartimaeus, but people never do."

I raised an eyebrow at the girl's uncharacteristic cynicism. I was no stranger to doom and gloom style pessimism, but to hear such statements from a wide-eyed idealist like Kitty? It threw me.

"Well," I said, turning away to watch as the last shovelful of dirt was tossed over the fresh grave, "I won't say I told you so."


	5. Premonitions

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Hey guys, I have a couple of announcements: First, my beta Lady Noir (A. Evans) has recently posted her first fanfiction: an excellent Wicked story entitled "The Price of Defiance." Check it out at www fanfiction net/s/4804450/1/The_Price_of_Defiance (add periods) and leave her a review! Second announcement: as you may or may not know, Nari-nick is an incredible artist, and has done a beautiful fanart of Bartimaeus and moth-Kitty, inspired by the previous chapter of this story. You can find it at rhysenne deviantart com/art/Rest-in-Peace-110157810 (add periods). Multitudinous thanks to all my reviewers: Nari, Measuringtape, Duckweed, Joeylejoker, Lisette, The 13th Faerie, Tane, di, Irritated Mouse, and Allendra. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

After the last few mourners trickled out of the cemetery, Bostwick finally decided to get cracking on the investigation. First up was the scene of the crime – the small home in Islington where Kitty had died. I hailed a taxi for my Master like a good djinni, and even held the door open for him as he slid into the back seat. [1. Mainly because Bostwick couldn't manage either task on his own. Honestly, that kid was the epitome of incompetent. He would havechoked on his own shoelaces if he hadn't had me around.] I wasn't, however, feeling helpful enough to warn him of the tiny fluttering insect that hovered above my head as I took up my place on the slippery snow-covered car roof.

I could sense Kitty begin to perk up as the vehicle wound its way north out of Highgate. The girl had figured out how to take the form of a serpent, and coiled around my arm to keep from being blown off the roof. It was a good impression of a snake too: flattened head, small round eyes, a complete set of interlinking scales – Kitty was beginning to manage more complex guises. Her satisfaction with that accomplishment, however, was nothing compared to her excitement upon discovering the ability to change colour. For a full ten minutes, the girl was a mad rainbow blur. Crimson, emerald, turquoise, heliotrope – apparently now that Kitty had discovered the wonders of the visible spectrum, she was determined to go around looking like a circus tent.

The sight of a middle-eastern boy perched on top of a moving car, with a multicoloured snake twined about him was apparently unnerving the passing pedestrians. At least, I assumed so after a matronly woman shrieked in shock and lost her grip on her baby carriage, which rolled downhill towards the moving traffic. The taxi swerved out of the way, nearly clipping a lamppost with the side-view mirror as the wide-eyed baby whizzed past. Unfortunately, this impressive show of dexterity on part of the taxi driver did not prevent Bostwick from blaming him for the incident and refusing to tip him upon our arrival.

I hid the snake under my jacket as Bostwick immerged from the vehicle and stood in the street, gazing upon the narrow row house where Kitty had spent the last three years of her life. In the grayish twilight it held an eerie tomb-like quality, and the boarded up windows and garish yellow line of police tape weren't helping any.

Bostwick nudged open the front door and gestured for me to enter.

"You'll be searching the house for traces of magic," he informed me. "How many planes can you see?"

"All of them," I replied, a bit insulted that he'd had to ask.

"Good," Bostwick nodded, "Please report anything suspicious you find."

With that, the gawky young man pulled a clunky flash-bulb camera out of the bag at his side and wandered into the building, snapping random pictures of the floor and walls. I didn't have the heart to remind him that he'd forgotten to load the camera with film.

I set Kitty free as soon as Bostwickhad gotten safely out of earshot. The snake arranged its coils neatly upon the floor, then perked its head to observe the front hallway where we stood.

"This is my house," she commented.

"A stunning deduction."

Kitty poked her forked tongue out at me and gave as much of a glare as a poker-faced snake could manage. I pretended to ignore her, and instead stared up at the ceiling, examining it on the various planes.

"What are you doing?" Kitty questioned.

"Following orders. Bostwick told me to look for magic, didn't you hear?"

The ceiling was clean on all seven planes, and there was nothing of interest on the walls. I began to move down the hallway, towards the staircase that led upstairs.

"Hey, wait up!" Kitty wriggled urgently after me, only to find herself tangled around my leg when I suddenly stopped short.

"Watch it!" She cried, struggling for release from the hopeless knot she'd tied herself into.

I barely noticed.

Before me was the staircase, caked with magical residue. Echoes of magic whispered under my feet and dripped from the walls. It was a foreign kind of energy, probably some kind of elemental explosion. Even the first plane bore evidence of the event, judging by the dark burn marks that scarred the ceiling.

"What is it?" Kitty whispered apprehensively.

"Magic," I replied. "It's all over the place. Can't you remember what happened here?"

The snake poked its head out from behind Ptolemy's leg and observed the scene before it.

"I don't see anything unusual," she said, "It's just how I left it."

"That's because you're not looking at it the right way. To see the other planes you can't look with those useless physical eyes you've conjured up for yourself. They're limited. You need to open your true eyes."

The snake stared at me skeptically.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. It might sound like a bunch of esoteric hokum, but you're a ghost. If you happen to operate a little mystically, it can only be expected, right?"

Kitty sighed. "Okay, fine. What do I do?"

I gently shook the snake from my leg and crouched down to its level. "Why don't you start by closing your eyes. You don't need them."

"I would," Kitty replied grouchily, "If I had eyelids."

Oops, I'd forgotten that detail. I reached over and covered Kitty's eyes with my palm. It seemed I had to do_ everything_ around here these days. The snake flicked her tail impatiently.

"Alright, now what?"

"Now all you need to do is concentrate. Open up your inner eyes and look around you."

Kitty's snake face scrunched up in concentration. I waited, trying to hold still so that the floorboards wouldn't creak and thow off her focus.

"I… I think I see it." Kitty's voice was strained, as if from far away. "There's the stairs… they're sort of glowing, I think."

"Yes," I replied, "That would be lingering magic."

"It's beautiful," the snake said wistfully, apparently forgetting that the blast was probably what had killed her. Suddenly Kitty stiffened and jerked away from my hand.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked. The snake didn't seem to hear me. Instead, it stared fixedly at the staircase, then turned to glance down the hall.

"Kitty," I waved my hand in front of her face. "Kitty, can you hear me?"

It wasn't until I started poking the girl between the eyes that she came to.

"Sorry," She said, focusing on me once more, "I just… I saw something. Like a flashback. There was a man with marks on his hands standing there at the top of the stairs… then an explosion… people banging on the door. And an envelope. I remember breaking the seal on an envelope…"

"What kind of marks?" I asked suspiciously. Kitty's brow furrowed.

"I don't know. I guess they were these sort of criss-crossed lines on the back of his hands."

Bingo. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a culprit. I was kind of disappointed – it felt like cheating, to solve a murder mystery when you had the victim to consult.

"What is it?" The snake tilted its head questioningly. "Do you know him?"

I gathered up Kitty's coils and stuffed them back under my jacket.

"Kitty," I said, "In a word, yes. I know who killed you. Now let's find that master of mine."

oooooooooooooo

Beneath Ptolemy's coat, Kitty felt uncomfortably disconnected from the world. Everything was dark warmth and soft muted sound; her only realities came filtered through from Bartimaeus: the slight rocking motion that indicated that they were ascending the stairs, the mysterious pause in his step that for a moment made her worry, and the calm, expansive rise and fall of his chest that reassured her, promising that everything was alright, even in the light of the potential discovery of her killer.

To Kitty, it felt as if Bartimaeus composed the entirety of this strange enclosed universe – which perhaps explained her alarm at the shocked tension that she felt roll through the djinni's body upon opening the door at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing?" She could feel, rather than hear, the incredulous words vibrate against her ear.

Curiously, she slunk down Bartimaeus' arm and poked her head out his sleeve.

In the centre of the room stood Bostwick. In one hand, he clutched an old-fashioned camera. In the other was a canister of film. The magician must not havehad a clue on how to load it into the camera, because the long strand of celluloid was a tangled mess. A snarl of film bound his knees together and twisted itself into a series of intricate knots before looping dangerously around his neck like a noose. As if oblivious, the boy was trying to shove the whole mess into the camera.

Bartimaeus groaned aloud. "A goner," he said. "That's what you are. I leave you alone for ten seconds and you're already strangling yourself with household implements. Do you have a death wish, or something? Because if that's what this is all about, I can hook you up with a councilor. You can't _literally_ be this helpless, it's impossible."

Bostwick flushed like a beet and immediately abandoned his efforts. "Did you come here to mock me," he said as he worked to free an arm from its bounds, "Or do you actually have something useful to report?"

The djinni paused. "Why don't you sit down, this could take awhile."

He gestured to a comfortable seat by the window – pointing with the arm that didn't have a snake sticking out of it, Kitty noted. Warily, Bostwick backed into the chair, his eyes never leaving Bartimaeus as the djinni perched himself on the edge of Kitty's roll top desk.

"Well?" Bostwick asked.

The djinni scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see, where to begin. Well, way back in my early career – let's say two thousand or so years ago, circumstances threw me into contact with this…um… religious sect. It was pretty much your typical cult group; dress in black, mark your hands with some nice scars so that everyone knows you're one of the cool kids, massage the master's toes, kill for hire – the basics, you know? They were lead by this crazy old hermit guy, and after he died, I'd figured the group would fade out of existence. I was wrong. A couple of years ago I met this mercenary guy, and guess what? Same black outfit, same scars, same propensity for killing. The assassins still exist, in some incarnation or other."

Bostwick frowned. "And you're saying that this group of assassins was responsible Ms. Jones' death?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I've seen their work before, and let me assure you, this is it."

Bostwick ran a nervous hand through the sweaty red strands of his hair. "O-Okay. Okay then. So if these people are the killers, then who hired them?"

Bartimaeus leaned back casually on the desk. "How should I know? Aren't you the investigator here?"

The stringy teen bit his lip. "I should probably tell Ms. Farrar about this as soon as possible. She'll know where to go from here."

"Is it just me," Bartimaeus said suddenly, "Or are you _afraid_ of getting a lead? You have no idea what to do, and you're terrified."

"No I'm not!" The boy protested.

But if Kitty were forced to decide, she would have hands-down gone with Bartimaeus' assessment.

oooooooooooooo

I was lying on my back in Bostwick's study, bored out of my mind and trying to pass the hours by contemplating the multitude of cracks in the ceiling. I'd demanded the sorry excuse for a magician let me go home for the night, but he'd refused. The kid probably thought he wouldn't have the power to summon me back once he let me go, and I was inclined to agree.

And thus, Kitty and I were trapped here in this room until morning, when Bostwick would give his preliminary report to Farrar.

Really, Farrar must have had an alternative motive, assigning Kitty's murder case to _Bostwick,_of all people. The boy was the sorriest excuse for a human that I'd ever met. Of course, it was no secret that Farrar and Kitty hadn't been the best of friends, so perhaps the police chief was purposely impeding the investigation. Bureaucratic corruption – how shocking.

I was suddenly roused from my thoughts by an insistent finger jabbing into my shoulder.

"What'd' you want?" I muttered. I turned to face my attacker, only to find myself staring into the gleeful brown eyes of Kathleen Jones. Not a snake, or a moth, or a slug, but the real thing, exactly as she had been.

It's impossible to explain exactly why I felt the way I did upon seeing Kitty's face once more. I mean, I _knew_she wasn't dead, not in the strictest sense of the word. She'd been by my side all day, after all, and I'd never once truly considered her to be any less that fully alive, never felt that I'd lost her, or that she was in some way gone. So tell me then, why I felt such a crushing sense of relief to see Kitty before me, looking exactly the way she had always looked? Why the sight of that dark hair twisting once more into rebellious curls, or the stubborn set of that mouth which hinted at the girl's ignescent personality, felt so reassuring?

Kitty met my stare easily and fixed me with a sassy grin.

"Look what I've figured out," she teased in a sing-song voice.

"Took you long enough," I choked out, hoping I didn't sound too affected.

Kitty's hair brushed against her cheeks as she gave a lighthearted twirl to show off her new trick.

"Exactly the same as ever," she noted with satisfaction.

"I don't know Kitty," I teased, "Are you sure you're not embellishing it a little? I don't remember you being quite that…"

Kitty's scowl made me smile. I'd missed the all-too-familiar expression. "I looked exactly like this, and you know it!" She hissed.

I studied my nails. "If you say so."

The girl probably would have ripped off my head if the door hadn't swung open at that very second, forcing Kitty to scramble for a dark corner to hide in.

Bostwick strode into the room, carrying a lopsided candle that was dripping a steady trail of wax over his lovingly scrubbed floor.

"Bartimaeus," he announced, oblivious to the dark-haired woman crouching under his desk, "I've been thinking."

"That's new."

"I've been thinking," he tried again, "about what you told me this evening about the assassins. We know that they're the killers, but what we don't know is who planned it all, and why."

"Yes," I said impatiently, "We've already established that."

Bostwick set his candle on the desk and sat down. A wide-eyed Kitty glanced worriedly at me, from her position near his feet. [2. Her fears were unfounded, of course. What did she expect? That the hapless magician would suddenly turn into Gladstone and strike her down with his staff?]

"It's just that I think we should put together a bit more of a case before we present this to Ms. Farrar. Find a few more leads, maybe figure out who may have paid them. You said you'd encountered this sect before. Would you know where to find them?"

Ptolemy's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I see where this is going. The answer is no. No way. I'm not going to pay the hermit-of-the-mountain a visit on his own turf. I'm not insane."

Bostwick leaned forward in his chair. "Please Bartimaeus, you have to do this. I need more information, and if you can interrogate this hermit guy…"

"I'm not leaving on a suicide mission, just so you can convince Ms. Boss-From-Hell that you have what it takes to make it as a detective, and that's final."

"Bartimaeus, please. Don't you want to bring Ms. Jones' murderers to justice?"

I folded my arms stubbornly and stuck my nose up in the air. I was adamant. Unmovable in my refusal. Nothing in the world could coerce me into throwing away my life, and Kitty's, in such a stupid gesture.

Of course, you know how long I stick to my resolutions.


	6. Journeys

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Starburstia, Duckweed, Lisette, Measuringtape, Nari, Tane, Allendra, dyingimmortal, thank you all very much for reviewing. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying Bostwick – he's my fist non-villainous OC, so I was a bit nervous about his reception. Just so you guys know, I might be late with next week's update – the next two weeks are chock full of midterms and such. Reading week is coming up though, I should get back on track fairly quickly. Thanks to Lady Noir, (A Evans) for beta-ing this chapter.

* * *

Flying, Kitty realized, was not a simple activity. It was more than just a matter of flapping; it required a strange in-and-out, circular motion that was difficult to coordinate, not to mention the rudder-like activity of the tail and complex external factors like wind speed and air temperature.

It didn't help that she was travelling eighteen times faster then the average bird, either.

The wind tore mercilessly at the rumpled feathers of her (no longer quite so) majestic golden eagle form, and her arms – or wings, rather – were beginning to feel a bit like the way an umbrella must feel when ripped inside-out in a strong gale. The worst of it was, after flying for six straight hours over a landscape of snow-capped mountains, Kitty was beginning to doubt that Bartimaeus knew where he was going.

Summoning a final burst of energy, she strained against the wind to reach the side of the grey falcon that glided serenely ahead of her, barely visible through the snow that pelted her eyes.

"Bartimaeus," she panted, struggling to keep up, "Are you sure you know where we are? This doesn't look like Iran to me."

The falcon amended its pace and cast its yellow eyes upon the snowy peaks and valleys below.

"Well, Kitty, that would be because we're currently somewhere in the Alps."

Kitty's wing beats faltered. "We _are_ lost," she cried incredulously, "I knew it! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I never get lost," The falcon assured her hastily, "We're just a bit off track. I'll get my bearings back once the storm settles and I can see the stars."

"Well how about we find somewhere to land while you 'get your bearings', because, frankly, I'm just about ready to fall out of the sky."

Without another word Kitty spiraled down towards a rocky ledge, too exhausted to even glance back to see if the djinni was following. She landed heavily on a gnarled root that stuck up out of the snow and wrapped her wings around herself for protection against the wind. A soft _whoosh_ fanned the air as the falcon alighted behind her.

"Are you okay, Kitty?" The bird hopped closer, creating a line of forked tracks in the snow. "We could stop here for the night if you need to."

The eagle shook her head. "Thanks, but we should probably keep going if we want to avoid freezing to death. I just need a minute to catch my breath."

Kitty ignored the djinni's mumble about how difficult it was to die of exposure when one had already been killed in an explosion, and instead focused on manipulating her essence into the shape of her original body, complete with some very, _very_ warm winter clothes. Taking forms was getting easier with practice, and Kitty had to admit the ability to change her shape at will was indescribably freeing.

Other forms of magic were becoming easier too. Kitty had been steadily improving her ability to view the other planes since that first attempt in her abandoned stairwell. She was even beginning to notice the subtle differences between the planes. There was the second plane, with its shining auras and visible magic, the third, which exposed the hideous true forms of disguised imps, the fourth and fifth, where djinn went about their daily business, the sixth, which sometimes vibrated with proximity to the Other Place, the seventh…

Kitty's thought spluttered out and died a hasty death.

"My god Bartimaeus, what _is_ that?"

The djinni glanced left and right, then back over his shoulder. "What's what? I don't see anything."

"You! On the seventh plane!"

"Oh, that." Bartimaeus sniffed irritably. "It's not my fault. Everything looks a little screwy on the seventh plane."

"I think I'm going to pass out."

"Ha, ha." Bartimaeus didn't sound amused. Back on the lower planes, his feathers were looking distinctly ruffled. "I'll have you know that among spirits, my true form is considered quite lovely."

Kitty smirked. "Sure it is. I think I'll just leave the seventh plane alone for now; I wouldn't want my eyes to be permanently scarred, after all."

_Whack_!

A hefty clod of snow smacked her right between the eyes, nearly knocking her off her feet. The Egyptian boy stood in the place of the falcon, grinning as he tossed another snowball from hand to hand.

"Why you…!" Kitty took a running leap and tackled the djinni, who landed with an _oomph_, face first in a snow drift. Mercilessly, Kitty shoveled snow over his head, cackling in victory.

Laughing, he threw her off and shook the clumps of snow from his hair.

"You cheated," he commented. Kitty arched an eyebrow and smirked.

"You're just a sore loser," she replied as she lay back to watch snowflakes drift down from the cloudy sky. "And you know, a cliff ledge is probably not the best place to do this sort of thing."

"You _can_ fly, as I recall." The djinni said as he stretched out beside her, following her upward gaze.

"So…" he said, musingly, "I wonder if the kid has managed to kill himself yet."

oooooooooooooo

With a horrendous _crash, _the heavy bronze coat-stand toppled over, leaving a dent the size of the Aleutian Oceanic Trench in the meticulously polished floor of the police department's administrative office. All eyes shot up from their paperwork to glare in annoyance at the skinny red-head who stood frozen above the fallen piece of furniture, outstretched arm still clutching his patched winter coat.

"James," The pleasant-faced secretary greeted him dryly, without looking up from the paperwork on her desk, "You never fail to make an impression in the morning."

She didn't catch Bostwick's dismayed blush as she leaned over to switch on the radio at her desk. The teen straightened the fallen coat-stand as the foreign staccato of the Czech language began to float through the office. He then glanced furtively over both shoulders, and upon failing to find any eyes upon him, kicked the throw rug over a few inches to the right to hide the deep score in the hardwood. After several months in the police department, he was becoming quite used to concealing the evidence of his blunders. Crisis averted, Bostwick casually wandered over to the secretary's desk.

"Hello, Hana."

"Good morning," the secretary replied. "In a rush, are we?"

"N-no. Not exactly. I just tried to hang my coat up and…"

The secretary waved her pen dismissively. "It was an accident, don't worry about it. Just make sure Ms. Farrar doesn't find out."

Bostwick gave her a sheepish grin. "Right. I'm still on probation from the last time I broke something." He fiddled nervously with his fingers, then gestured to the blaring radio. "So what're you listening to?"

The secretary set her pen down, and smiled patiently. "It's a national address by the leader of my home country, Mr. Vavrin Zaba. He's saying he will bring prosperity back to the Czech Empire."

"Prosperity. I guess that's good."

Hana's lips tightened. "Good for the Czechs, perhaps. The Emperor has no qualms about expressing his distaste for Britain and her subjects."

Bostwick shrugged. "That's not new. Since when has a Czech leader _not_ expressed distaste for Britain? It never amounts to anything, after all. Even with all the revolts and government changes and civil unrest we've been through, we're still far too strong for them to pose a serious threat."

"This time it's different," Hana murmured, going back to her paperwork. It became obvious after a moment that their conversation was over, and Bostwick slipped past to sit meekly at his own cubicle.

A very disorganized layer of papers littered his desk. He sifted through them absently – most were legal forms he had yet to fill out; only the odd sheet here and there was pertinent to the Jones Case. The teen sighed. He was supposed to give a review of his progress to Ms. Farrar today, and he was only now realizing just how little he had to go on. He glanced up nervously at the frosted glass door that led to the police chief's office.

As if on cue, the door swung open. The immaculately dressed politician rushed out so quickly that the snake-like eastern dragon on her shoulder had to dig in its claws to prevent itself from being blown backwards. Bostwick quickly averted his eyes.

Farrar paused to dust off her suit jacket with imperious flare. Then her eyes alighted on the fidgety young man, and she strode confidently over to perch on the edge of Bostwick's desk, crossing one long leg over the other and fixing him with a falsely sweet smile.

"James," she said tenderly, placing a hand on his shoulder, "How is the investigation going?"

The boy gulped audibly. "I – well, I'm not too sure yet. I have a lead, and I've put a very reliable spirit on it."

Jane stiffened in displeasure. The dragon spirit perked up its head, as if anticipating a command, and Bostwick's face took on a terrified pallor. "I-I'll inform you if we find something significant, Ms. Farrar."

An unpleasant frown curled Farrar's painted lips. "Bostwick," she said, "I've decided to give you an additional assignment." She held out a file as thick as a phone directory and let it slip from her fingers. The desk vibrated as the heavy stack slammed down.

Bostwick's eyes boggled. "I couldn't possibly finish both cases!"

"You'll just have to work harder. This is a busy department, and we all have to pull our own weight."

Bostwick would have protested further, but he was suddenly interrupted by Hana's urgent call from across the room.

"Ms. Farrar, I have someone on the line who says he needs to talk to you."

"Who?" the woman asked impatiently.

"He won't tell me, ma'am. He says you'll know."

Jane stiffened. "Thank you Hana," she replied after a moment, "I'll take the call in my office." She slipped from Bostwick's desk and sauntered out of the room.

"I told you not to call me at work!" Bostwick heard the moment before the frosted glass door slammed shut again. Perhaps he could have summoned more curiosity if he hadn't felt quite so blindingly relieved.

oooooooooooooo

The air of northern Iran, Kitty noticed, was warm and heavy, tinged by the sharp sooty smell that rose from the Tehran smog. Beneath her, the knobby brown Alborz Mountains ringed the southern tip of the Caspian Sea, looking nothing like the jagged peaks they had just left behind in Europe.

The falcon ahead swooped down low over the landscape, gesturing for her to follow. Together, they touched down on a shale-covered path that wound its way up the barren mountainside, leading away into the hazy fog that obscured the summit from sight.

"Why are we stopping here?" Kitty asked as the falcon became the Egyptian boy once more.

"If this organization is anything like it used to be," Bartimaeus replied, "Then these mountains will be very well guarded. It's not safe to travel by air."

Kitty glanced up the winding path and sighed. Well, hiking up a mountain couldn't be any harder then flying all the way across Europe. Taking her own original form, she started forwards.

There was a soft click under her foot, and a rustling from the withered juniper tree overhead. Kitty just managed to throw herself out of the way as a silver ax suddenly swung down with enough force to crack the stone of the path.

"It's booby-trapped!" She exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the weapon that had nearly killed her for the second time.

"I didn't say it would be particularly easy to travel by foot, either."

"Yeah, thanks for the warning."

The pair began their ascent, taking care to avoid setting off any more triggers that might give away their position, or in other ways incapacitate the mission – such as by causing their deaths. It was slow going, and by mid-afternoon they had over half the mountain yet to traverse. Kitty was about ready for another break, when suddenly, a harsh voice called out behind them.

"_Vâysâ! Tekân nakôrid_!"A tall, squinty-eyed man emerged, clutching an ancient rifle, which he pointed variously at Bartimaeus and Kitty. His finger curled expectantly around the trigger.

Kitty raised her hands carefully – the bullets wouldn't hurt her unless they were silver, but she wasn't taking any chances. Suddenly she found herself blinking incredulously as Bartimaeus plastered a worried expression on his face and started jabbering away in Farsi.

"_Asr Bekheyr. Mishe lotfan be man komak konin_?" He gestured wildly to Kitty, "_Man gom shodam, va dust am mariz e. Doktôr kojâ-st_?"

The man frowned suspiciously and eyed Bartimaeus down the barrel of the gun. "_Boro gom sho_," he insisted, gesturing back down the path. It was obvious he was telling them to leave, and Kitty suspected that he was perfectly prepared to shoot them if they didn't comply.

"Uh, Bartimaeus," she whispered, "Maybe we should do what he says."

Bartimaeus ignored her, and instead pointed urgently over the man's shoulder. "_Negah kon_!" He shouted, "_Oon yek rooh hastesh_?"

The man lowered his gun and glanced around in confusion. "_Chi_? _Kojâ_?"

That was all he had the opportunity to say before he was blasted backwards by an unexpected Detonation.

Bartimaeus dusted off his hands and turned to Kitty, "Well that takes care of one sentinel. How many do you suppose they have on this mountain?"


	7. The Hermit of the Mountain

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Hey guys! It's been awhile, but I've finally found some time to write. Thank you everybody who reviewed last chapter, including starburstia (I wuv you too! Thanks for reviewing!), Tane (Hey, I was watching a nature special last night on national parks in Israel which made me think of you. Israel has some fascinating landscapes!), Nari (Thank you again for the artwork!), Duckweed (Yeah, Kitty looks human on the seventh plane, since it shows her true self), and Lisette (I'm glad you enjoyed it!). And as always, special thanks to Lady Noir, my beta. Happy reading!

P.S. Did anyone else notice that they've put up a characters catagory for the Bartimaeus section? We're making progress!

* * *

The black-cloaked man fondled the pommel of his scimitar as his suspicious eyes traversed the sloping mountainside below. The pale scars that wound along the backs of his hands tightened and stretched as he flexed his fingers, ready to draw the blade in a blinking if need be.

To all appearances, the mountain was quiet and still in the rosy half-light of dusk. The bare, gravelly rock was devoid of all life, save for a smattering of stunted, thorny shrubs and the scattered flock of goats that munched idly at them.

The black-clad man took a wary step forwards. His shifty eyes darted over a row of battered boulders that lined the path, considering whether they were high enough to conceal an enemy. A small sound broke the silence, and the man whirled around – tense, wary, and ready to kill. At last he relaxed as he located the source of the disturbance, a small brown ant skittering lightly over the rubble.

The watchman sighed and shook his head. There really _was_ such a thing as being too aware. No sense jumping at meaningless shadows.

He turned his back on the scene, about to return to the shelter of the hermit's fortress, when another soft sound caught his ear.

"_Ah-choo_!" A scrawny-looking goat on the outskirts of the flock suddenly sneezed, spewing half eaten leaves from its mouth.

Eyes narrowing, the assassin slid the blade from its sheath and leapt towards the ragged creature. The silver hummed as it swung through empty air. Confused, the man glanced down at the patch of yellow grass where the goat had been a moment before. Then he looked up, only to see an eight-foot tall Maasai warrior standing in its place.

The assassin dove to the side and rolled away as the warrior stabbed downwards with his spear. Scrambling to his feet, he began running up the path, calling out at the top of his lungs.

"_Komak! Komak, en jinn hast!_"

It his haste to reach the fortress above, the man didn't notice the small brown ant by his foot draw itself up, morphing into a willowy brown-haired girl who promptly snatched up a rock and smashed it into the side of his head.

"Now don't tell me you're allergic to goats," Kitty called teasingly over her shoulder as the man crumpled into an unconscious heap at her feet. The hulking Maasai warrior shrugged and wandered over to inspect her victim, whistling appreciatively at the throbbing purple goose-egg rising off of his skull.

"Nice one. I do believe you've mastered the ancient art of doling out concussions." He bent to pick up the assassin's scimitar by its leather-wrapped grip, and tilted it this way and that as though to test its balance.

"Well, so much for stealth, anyways," Kitty grumbled. Bartimaeus tossed the blade over his shoulder and began to go through the man's pockets. The girl stared after the silver sword as it clattered against the rocks.

"I wouldn't worry; I doubt anyone heard him. Sound doesn't carry well up here – the air is too thin."

"Um, Bartimaeus… don't you think we could have used that?" She pointed at the sword, which was picking up speed as it bounced downhill. The warrior shook his head.

"Nasty thing like that's too risky for us to use. Here," the djinni held out a small glass cube that flickered oddly, as if the light wasn't reflecting quite right off of it. A Hurricane cube, Kitty recognized.

"Hang on to this until you get the hang of using proper magic," Bartimaeus continued. "No more whacking people with rocks."

"But I'm so _good _at it!" Kitty joked, tucking the cube in the pocket of her jeans.

"That you are," The djinni replied, smiling fondly at her, "But lets see if we can't be a bit more subtle from here on out."

"Subtle? You?" Kitty snorted and took hold of the warrior's wrist, pulling him to his feet. "If we relied on your subtlety, you'd bring the whole mountain on us in an instant! Stick close and let me show you how it's done."

Kitty's eyes wandered up to the peak of the mountain that towered above them, wrapped in haze. The squat brown fortress at its apex was now so close that she could make out the small black shapes of the guards as they marched back and forth across the walls.

"So," Bartimaeus said, leaning in to follow her gaze, "Are you up for a little creative infiltration?"

oooooooooooooo

As an innocuous pair of spiders, Kitty and I scuttled across the low arch of the ceiling, carefully weaving through the delicate network of magical fibers that hung in our way. The thin strands of magic formed a sophisticated Nexus – a system of supernatural tripwires designed to set off an intruder alarm when broken.

Ironic as it was, considering its location at the top of a mountain, the interior of the assassin's fortress felt disturbingly similar to that of a dungeon. The corridors were narrow and winding, a true honeycomb of dark passages. An occasional oil-burning sconce struggled to banish the murky darkness, but did little more than spread a pale halo of light on the uneven floor directly beneath. Beads of condensation dripped from the ceiling, making it quite an effort for our fragile spider legs to trudge on towards the door at the end of the hall. At last we slipped through the gap between the brass hinges and found ourselves inside a sizable room.

It was warm, and nearly empty save for the sputtering candles wedged into niches along the wall. On a dais at the end of the room, sitting cross-legged on a simple mat of rushes, was a withered old man wrapped in a shred of black cloth. His eyes, pale and milky with cataracts, stared unblinkingly into nothingness. Around his feet, hundreds of small clay jars were clustered, each one bearing a different symbol cut into its surface.

"That's got to be him," I said to Kitty, in that nearly inaudible whisper that only a spider can use to communicate, "If you go around to the left, and I flank him on the right, we should be able to drop down, grab him, and escape through the ceiling."

"You want to just waltz in and kidnap him?" Kitty asked.

"Do you really think he's in any condition to resist?" I countered. [1. This was a solid point. If someone had told me that this was same hermit-of-the-mountain who I'd known back in my Egypt days, I'd probably have believed him. The man looked like he could easily be three thousand years old. I'm not kidding. He had a face like a skull and loose, hanging skin the colour of apple flesh exposed too long to oxygen. Factor in the blindness, and you can bet your buttons that man wasn't about to leap up and defend himself with secret karate moves.]

"I thought we were going for subtle here," came Kitty's exasperated mutter as she scurried off to the left side of the dais.

We were in position, and ready to make our move, when suddenly the doors at the end of the hall swung open.

"_Keya?_" The old man cried out in a wheezy voice, which was vaguely reminiscent of the sputter of air escaping a balloon.

A leggy young woman with a pair of green tinted sunglasses perched on the top of her head strolled in through the doorway. She definitely wasn't Iranian – Slavic perhaps.

"Hello sir," the woman said, addressing the corpse-like figure on the dais, "It's me – Mia Kavka."

I looked over to see Kitty blinking all eight of her spider eyes in surprise to finally hear someone speak her native tongue.

"Ms. Kavka," the hermit's shriveled mouth stretched into a carnivorous grin. "I assume you've been sent to pay us for our services. It's about time."

The woman, Mia, tapped her foot impatiently upon the dusty floor. "You won't get a thing until I have assurance that the job has been completed satisfactorily."

The hermits grin widened to show even more teeth. I swear the man had twice as many as normal. "I'd expect no less of course. Take this –" here he took one of the clay jars that lay by his feet and held it out to her, "My men retrieved it from the corpse." Hesitantly, Mia reached into the jar and pulled out a lock of dark brown hair. She held it in her palm for a moment, then caressed it gently with her thumb.

"So it is true then. Kitty Jones is dead. My employer will be pleased."

I could sense Kitty stiffen in shock beside me. She stared fixedly at the small piece of herself that lay in the hand of someone who'd ordered her murder. I reached out to tug on one of her spiny legs. "Kitty, come on. We have to go."

"What? Where are we going?" She murmured as I pulled her back towards the entrance. "We have to get the hair – I mean, hermit!"

"Forget about the hermit," I said, as we scuttled back into the hallway, "That woman works for whoever killed you. We need to follow her back to her employer."

At last we passed through the large double doors that lead into the building and found ourselves outside in the front courtyard of the fortress. A nondescript black car was parked near the exit, looking rather anachronistic in the all-around medieval setting.

"That must be her car," I said, "Come on."

I scuttled up the back tire and fender, and popped open the trunk with a discrete Unlock spell. The hatch swung open, revealing a haphazard pile of luggage stuffed inside. Taking the larger form of a green gecko, I unzipped the nearest duffel bag, revealing its neatly packed, though rather objectionable contents. I settled into a cozy spot between the handcuffs and the boxed set of throwing knives, and beckoned for Kitty to follow.

After Kitty snuggled in and closed the trunk behind her, we sat together in impenetrable darkness, each listening to the sound of the other's breathing until the engine finally started and the car began the winding journey back down the mountainside.


	8. Travel Arrangements

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Tremendous thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Duckweed: I suppose that's why they call it a plot contrivance ;)

Darkly Sinfull: Hello new-person, thanks for the review!

Nari, I'm kind of writing it on the side – it's just a oneshot so I should stay on track with this story.

Tane: You slept in a Bedouin tent? You are officially the coolest person alive.

Lisette: Yeah, you really, _really_ don't!

So on with the story. I promise this is the last time I force you to read a bunch of untranslated, mangled, foreign phrases…

After half an hour of being tossed around in the dark as the car jerked and bounced over the pitted road to Tehran, I finally cracked and lit up a minor Illumination. As the dull green light shone out, the canvas walls suddenly imposed themselves on my awareness, giving the rather disconcerting impression that I was wrapped in cloth like a mummy. [1. Mummification really is a disturbing process. I'll never forget the time I had the delightful opportunity of observing an embalming first hand, after the untimely death of Ramses III. The process included, among other things, cutting out the internal organs and stuffing them into decorative jars, extruding the brain through the nose with a hook, and swaddling the body in linens until it resembled a human-sized wad of toilet paper. The pharaoh had hoped that this procedure would allow his soul and body to reunite in the afterlife, but little did he know that several thousand years later, his shriveled corpse would be on display at the Cairo Museum to be gawked at by hundreds of tourists. Better to leave nothing of yourself in this world and spare yourself the posthumous humiliation, if you ask me.]

"How much longer do you think it's going to be?" Kitty whispered from somewhere behind my left elbow.

"At least another hour and a half if she's going to Tehran," I replied, struggling to turn around in the cramped mishmash of belongings. "Why, getting bored?"

She shrugged all eight of her spidery limbs. "Not really, I found plenty of reading material." There was, indeed, a thick stack of glossy pamphlets beside her, the kind that politicians like to hand out door to door during elections. [2. If you're lucky enough to _have_ elections that is.]

"Reading in the dark? Really Kitty, didn't your mother ever tell you not to strain your eyes?"

"Spider, remember?"

I shook my head in mock exasperation and turned to the brochure Kitty had indicated.

"You were reading this, huh? It's in _Czech_, my friend."

A smiling blond man was pictured on the front page, beneath the words, "_Náš císař Vavrin Zaba. Blaženost na Čech Císařství!"_

Subtle, that. Obviously these pamphlets were pieces of propaganda meant to prop up the Czech Emperor. I had vague recollections of what Kitty had told me back when the young Vavrin Zaba had risen to power roughly three years ago. The man was terribly popular in his own country, having completely transformed the nation from a rather superstitious, backwards, and militaristically unintimidating country, into a superstitious, backwards, and militaristically _intimidating_ country. Various newspapers assured me that it was completely unrecognizable as the same the place I visited on my last trip to Prague, with Mandrake and the colourful Harlequin.

Hold on a second. My last trip to Prague. That rang a bell.

"Kitty," I said slowly, "What did that woman call herself again?"

The spider frowned. "Mia Kavka, was it?"

"Kavka," I repeated, rolling the word over my tongue. "I thought so. Kitty, do you remember when we first met? The time you saved Nathaniel's life by destroying a golem?"

"Um, Yes?"

"I don't think I ever mention it to you, but the man who created that golem was named Kavka. He told Nat and I that he was blackmailed into creating it by a politician holding his children captive in the Tower of London. And their names? Karl and Mia Kavka, Czech spies infiltrating Britain."

Kitty rubbed her head. "That _is_ a strange coincidence. So that woman is from the Czech Empire then. I suppose it makes sense considering these." She gestured to the wad of pamphlets by her side.

"Here I was urging Nathaniel to release them," I grumbled, "And then they up and decide to kill you! That's the extent of human gratitude for you."

The spider laughed and scurried up my arm.

"It's definitely not your fault," she said, bopping me on the head, "So don't even go there." I shrugged, causing her to tumble off my shoulder and land upside-down between scattered tubes of lipstick. With a twitch, she hopped back up on her feet.

"So, then," she said, "Do you really think she's working for the Czech government? It makes no sense; Zaba has no reason to want me dead."

"Well, he has no reason to want you alive either," I pointed out.

"Even you can't be cynical enough to believe that assassinations are committed just for laughs. If it was Zaba, then he must have had a motive… I just can't remember what it is!"

Kitty's ruminations were interrupted by the squeal of rusty breaks as the car lurched to a stop, and the bag we sat in toppled over. I made a grab for the spider, sheltering its fragile form between sticky gecko palms as the law of inertia kindly buried us in a landslide of Mia's various accoutrements.

"You alright?" I whispered, hoping my haste hadn't unintentionally reduced the girl to little more than an icky smear between my fingers. I didn't get to hear a reply before the trunk popped open and the bag was lifted smoothly into the air.

Kitty and I remained as still as possible as the bag swung sickeningly from the hand that grasped it. Filtering through the thin canvas, I could hear all the familiar airport noises – the scream of engines through the air, the rumble of the crowd, the distorted mechanical voice announcing departures over the intercom. Eventually the lurching motion stopped and the sounds around us grew faint – all but the steady growl of a jet engine poised for takeoff. We were in the luggage compartment of the plane, I surmised.

"So Kitty," I said conversationally, "Have you ever been to Prague?"

oooooooooooooo

By the time the plane touched pavement once more, Kitty was thoroughly sick of every inch of the cramped interior of her duffel bag prison. It wasn't until long after they had been unloaded by a crew of oblivious airport employees that Bartimaeus finally stirred and pulled down the bag's zipper, letting in an influx of fresh, cool air.

"Come on," he said, interrupting Kitty's desperate attempt to gulp down as much oxygen as possible. Taking Ptolemy's form, he climbed out the opening, and disappeared from view. Kitty stared after him for a moment, then followed eagerly, squeezing out of the bag and onto the rotating surface of the luggage carousel as her own familiar human self. The djinni ahead paused a moment to stretch, letting himself be pulled a little ways down conveyor belt before stepping down and gesturing for her to follow him.

"_Prominte_," He said politely as he pushed through the gawking crowd of passengers waiting for their suitcases. They parted uneasily, as if they feared the strange boy who'd suddenly appeared like a rabbit from a magician's hat.

Kitty waded through the sea of people, grabbing the djinni's sleeve as she reached his side. Bartimaeus tilted his head to whisper in her ear. "Do you see Mia anywhere?"

Kitty scanned the crowd, and after a moment, caught sight of a pair of green sunglasses bobbing towards the luggage carousel.

"There she is," she muttered.

The dark haired spy gathered her luggage, staring curiously at the unzipped duffel bag before shrugging and slinging it over her shoulder. Bartimaeus and Kitty followed surreptitiously behind her as she pushed through the line at customs with the wave of a badge and slipped through the double doors to the busy parking lot.

Outside, the snow was falling softly, coating the pavement in thick grey slush. Bartimaeus and Kitty hung back under the awning as Mia strode forward, hailed a taxi, and pulled away, headed for who knows where.

"Quick!" Kitty latched onto Bartimaeus' shoulder and ducked into another taxi that idled by the curb. The djinni yelled something to the tiny, mustached driver, which Kitty could only assume meant something along the lines of "Follow them!" Apparently he succeeded in conveying the urgency of the situation, because with a painful squeal heard only in action movies, the car peeled out of the parking lot in hot pursuit of Mia's vehicle.

There was nothing suspicious about the car ahead, it drove along carefully obeying the speed limit, every traffic signal, and every rule of the road. The same could not be said for the taxi Kitty and Bartimaeus were riding in. It swerved and sped to keep pace with the subject of its pursuit, suddenly hitting the brakes with whiplash-inducing abruptness at an unexpected red light, then flooring it to catch up. Kitty could barely hide her relief when they finally pulled up in front of a shabby hotel. The driver of the taxi ahead hopped out to help his passenger with her bags, and the pair entered the building without so much as a backward glance.

_Their_ taxi driver tugged at his mustache and shot them a raised eyebrow through the rearview mirror as he parked behind their quarry. Probably he was wondering what all the drama was about. Unfortunately, there was no time for explanations, as girl and djinni hopped out of the vehicle and sped inside in less time than it took to blink.

The floor of the tiny hotel lobby was swamped with filthy melt water from snow-caked boots. Mia was waiting by the front desk, and Bartimaeus and Kitty slipped in line behind her just as the woman was handed her room key.

"Room 114," Kitty whispered to Bartimaeus, noting of the numbers engraved on the key shaft. Nodding her thanks to the woman behind the desk, Mia slipped down the hall in search her room. Kitty was about to follow when she was suddenly confronted by the smiling woman behind the desk.

"_Mohu vám pomoci_?" She called in an overly-cheerful voice.

"Uh…"

Luckily Bartimaeus came to her rescue.

"_Mluvíte anglicky_?" He asked, stepping in front of Kitty.

"Oh, of course," the woman replied in heavily accented English. "You two must be British."

"She is," the djinni jerked his thumb towards Kitty, "I'm kind of multinational, myself. So anyways, we're looking for a room."

"Ah yes of course." The woman's lewd smirk gave Kitty the irrational urge to punch her in the face. Unaware of the imminent danger, the concierge turned to her computer and punched a few numbers on the keyboard. "I can put you up in Room 623, would that be acceptable?"

Kitty and Bartimaeus exchanged glances. In a room that far away, they would have absolutely no hope of keeping tabs on Mia.

"Er, actually," Kitty stammered, thinking fast, "I'm terrified of heights. Yes, um, you see, last time I stayed in a hotel, I slipped on some ice and fell off the balcony. I was in a coma for eight months, and even after I woke up, I was practically catatonic for years! I've only just now worked up the courage to stay in a hotel room again. Of course, I'm severely acrophobic as a result, so we couldn't possibly be placed on the fifth floor; my psychiatrist would be awfully upset." She finished by flashing the woman a winning smile.

The hotel employee blinked uncomprehendingly, then glanced over at Bartimaeus, giving him a look that clearly said he was a saint for putting up with his poor, mentally-ill companion.

"Okay, then, Room 115 is empty. Could you live with that?"

"Yes!" Kitty cried exuberantly, clamping her hands together at the unexpected good-fortune. The woman stared. "Um, I mean thank you, that would be acceptable."

The woman behind the desk sighed and handed Kitty the room key. There was a brief moment of uncertainty as Kitty realized they had no way of paying for their accommodations, but Bartimaeus suddenly presented the woman with a credit card from his back pocket, and the pair hurried off down the hall with their prize.

"Hey, where'd you get a credit card?" Kitty whispered once they were out of earshot.

"A kindhearted security guard back at the airport loaned it to me," he replied off-handedly.

"And by that," Kitty grumbled, unlocking the door, "You mean you lifted it off him."

The hotel room was a small affair, with kitschy floral curtains and lots of framed photographs of local landmarks. Bartimaeus wandered inside and picked up a notice that sat on the bedside table.

"Hey, look," he said, sounding like an excited child, "They have room service!"

Kitty plopped down on the garish pink bedspread. "What do you care? You can't eat anything."

"Who says I'm going to eat it? Hmm, garlic soup and potato dumplings. That sounds like a pain to make…"

"Quit fooling around! Are you forgetting we have a Czech spy in the next room?"

"Sure, but at the moment we're stuck here waiting to see what she does next. May as well enjoy ourselves." With a wink, he picked up the phone and started talking to the person on the other end.

"Hello? This is room 115. How much for a pound of venison? Say, you wouldn't have anything that's still alive, would you?"

He placed the phone back on the receiver under the heat of Kitty's furious glare and raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just kidding!"

Mumbling under her breath, Kitty switched on the tiny black and white television and sat back on the end of the bed to watch the news. The grainy grayscale image of the charismatic Emperor popped onto the screen, waving its fist and crying out passionately in Czech.

"I swear to you, my people," read the English captions running along the bottom of the screen. "That soon, all of Europe shall be united under the Empire of old!"

"This whole nation seems obsessed with that man," Kitty complained. It seemed like the popular politician lurked behind every corner. She leaned closer, studying him more closely. This was potentially the person ultimately responsible for her death. He didn't look like a killer, with his sincere expression and fervent gesturing, but Kitty knew well that when it came to politicians, appearances didn't count for much.

The mattress dipped as Bartimaeus sat down beside her, leaning back on his arms and blowing a strand of hair out from his eyes.

"That guy is bad news," he commented, nodding towards the TV screen. "He smiles way too much."

"If you don't want to watch, you could always go buy yourself a steaming pile of venison, instead," Kitty said coyly.

The djinni smirked. "As lovely as that sounds…"

Kitty glanced at the television, then back at the Egyptian boy beside her. "You know," she said musingly, "Being dead isn't as bad as I expected it to be."

"Of course it isn't." Bartimaeus replied, inspecting his bare toes casually, "You _do_ have me, after all."

Kitty's eyes widened. "You egotistical–" She snatched up a pillow and was about to give the djinni a good whack over the head when…

_Ring!_

Kitty froze. The pillow tumbled ineffectually from her grasp.

_Ring!_

The muffled sound of a telephone in the next room made her heart pound. Not daring to turn her head, Kitty glanced at Bartimaeus from the corner of her eyes. This was it.

"_Haló_." A faint female voice filtered through the thin wall. "_Jak se máš?" _A brief, suspense-filled pause, and then: "_Ano. __Nashledanou později. Čau_."

There was a soft click as their neighbor's door opened slowly. Mia was leaving the hotel. In silent agreement, Bartimaeus and Kitty rose to follow.


	9. A Matter of Correspondence

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Apologies! This chapter should have come out last week, but school once again started catching up with me. Thank you, those who reviewed last chapter.

Nari: Same here! I hope to go there some day. Hopefully things should start clicking into place with the next few chapters. And in this chapter…

Duckweed: Oops, I forgot about that! *slaps forehead*

Lisette: Thanks! I'll try!

Tane: Yeah, I tend to use minor characters because so many of the main ones died by the end of the series! Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

A row of stern-faced magicians glared down at Bostwick from their renaissance-style portraits, as if to demand why a low-bred hack like him dared to traverse the sacred halls of Westminster Palace. Bostwick shivered and looked away, keeping his eyes on the richly designed mosaic passing beneath his feet. The boy was a detective, not a politician, and he felt dreadfully out of place every time he was forced to enter Parliament. Here, a malevolent aura of conceit and greed still infected the air in spite of over three years of rule by the comparatively mild commoners' parliament.

Of course, the malicious presence of Jane Farrar hovering over his shoulder to read his notes as they walked along was not alleviating Bostwick's unease. Her demon servant, a delicate Chinese dragon, was draped around her neck like a scarf, and its long whiskers tickled Bostwick's ear. Menacingly.

"And this is from your interview with McCrae is it not?" Farrar asked, tapping the clipboard in Bostwick's hands with one long fingernail. "For the political corruption inquiry I gave you last night?"

Bostwick nodded and walked a little faster.

"I want you recommend that he be placed under further scrutiny, and Button as well."

He stopped and gave the woman a questioning look. "Why Button? There's no evidence to suggest…"

"You can't be too careful. Do it."

Bostwick exhaled slowly and nodded.

"Good." Farrar leaned back and studied him with an uncharacteristic expression of interest.

"Now about the Jones case," she began, "Have you made any progress?"

Bostwick rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny. "Uh, well, no." he stammered, "You've given me six other projects in the past two days; I really haven't had time to work on it."

Farrar tapped her chin. "I see. A few days ago you told me you had a lead."

"Yeah," he replied, "But my djinni hasn't returned yet, and until he does…"

"So you haven't revisited the crime scene, am I right?"

The young detective shrugged. "I don't see what good it would do…"

Farrar waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. You're right – there's no point in going back." Suddenly she lunged forwards and grasped the lapels of his suit. The heavy Egyptian amulet she wore around her neck swung forward under the momentum and smacked him right in the eye. "But if you _did_ find something," She hissed, shaking him slightly, "You _would _tell me, wouldn't you James?"

Bostwick paled as Farrar's gleaming eyes bored into him. "I – yes, of course. You're my supervisor, and –"

"Good." Farrar shoved him back with a flick of her wrist, and spinning on her heel, marched down the hall. Bostwick stumbled and nearly tripped over his own feet, before hurrying after his mercurial boss. As soon as he was free from the terrifying woman's presence, he promised himself he was going straight down to Islington, to the home of the late Ms. Jones. With any luck, he'd soon find out what had Farrar's knickers in such a twist.

oooooooooooooo

Mia's destination was a section of Prague rarely visited by tourists – deep in the heart of the burned-out factories and abandoned warehouses that festooned the sludgy bank of the Vltava River. Sunk into the damp ground was the entrance to a charming concrete bunker, which the nation's youth had lovingly adorned with at least six layers of anti-government graffiti, expressed in unique and colourful terms.

Further improving the landscape, a slack-jawed drunk lounged against the armored door, staring out vacantly with rheumy eyes and emitting a cocktail of atmospheric fragrances. There were a few slight altercations on the higher planes, where the sleepy drunk was replaced by a very alert-looking djinni. The odors, unfortunately, remained.

Upon spotting the bunker and its covert sentry, Mia stopped walking and glanced furtively over her shoulder. Kitty and I froze in our tracks. Undisguised as we were, we would have been easily spotted if not for the Concealment that shrouded us, but as it was the spy turned away, satisfied that she was alone. The djinni at the entrance bowed and stepped aside as the woman disappeared through the door.

"So what do you think?" I whispered to my pretty companion. "Do we attack the guard or try and slip in unnoticed?"

While the djinni guard didn't look like much of a challenge, there was a pretty good chance that he'd be able to sound the alarm before meeting whatever untimely end Kitty or I dished out. I didn't much fancy the idea of sneaking past him either. At close range, he'd spot the Concealment instantly, and we'd be back to square one.

Kitty's eyes sparkled the way they always did when she had a clever idea. Wordlessly, she lifted her hand and pointed up to a squat metal box on the bunker's roof – the air vent. I always did say that girl had a good head on her shoulders.

Together we slipped around to the back of the building, giving the guard a wide berth. Within six seconds we had climbed straight up the wall, pried off the grating and slipped down the ventilation shaft, all in complete silence. That's the kind of efficiency two professionals like Kitty and I can attain.

On knees and elbows, we crawled through the narrow ductwork, towards the hushed murmur of voices. It was a bit of a pinch, even for Ptolemy's slender form, and the resident tennis-ball-sized spiders weren't putting me at ease. I could hear Kitty's quiet breathing as she scrambled on behind me, trying to remain as silent as possible. Sound had a tendency to carry through ducting like this – one creak or cough and it would all be over. Our cramped quarters didn't exactly afford us the mobility to fight if we were discovered. There was a dim glow up ahead, where an air-flow vent allowed a little light to trickle up from the room below. The sound of voices was far clearer now – undoubtedly we were now directly above their source. I bent carefully over the opening. Behind me Kitty shifted closer to look over my shoulder, and few errant tendrils of her hair tickled my chin. I probably should have moved aside to give her a better view, but I kind of enjoyed the warm sensation of her head on my shoulder. Knowing that someone else has got your back is a wonderful feeling that I hadn't had much opportunity to enjoy thus far.

Peering through the vent, Kitty and I had a lovely overhead view of the two people below. The first, of course, was Mia, pacing back and forth in the tiny chamber with an air of uncharacteristic anxiety, while the second was a sorry looking figure, emaciated beyond belief, and bent like a withered leaf over a scroll of parchment on the table before him. My heart jolted and I did a double take as I recognized the red and black symbols jotted over the paper – it was the animating scroll for a golem. Even more alarming were the rolls of paper sticking out of the baskets in the corner, suggesting the scroll on the table was only the latest in a long series. What on Earth were the Czechs planning?

Mia quit her pacing and began to murmur in low Czech to her companion. I leaned closer in an attempt to hear what she said. Suddenly Kitty's elbow ground into my ribs.

"Start translating, mister," she ordered in a voiceless whisper.

Nobody disobeys a direct order from Kitty Jones.

"You look awful, Karl," I interpreted obediently, as Mia murmured in soothing Czech and wiped a lock of damp hair from the worn figure's forehead. "Haven't they been feeding you?"

Slowly, as if a millstone were tied around his neck, Karl lifted his head from its place between his palms and regarded his sister through droopy bloodshot eyes. [1. At least, I assumed she was his sister. Kavka had mentioned his son's name was Karl, and Mia's distraught expression could only be interpreted as the concern of an affectionate sibling. Well, that or a lover. Or, uh…you know – both.]

"You've been gone for so long," I relayed to Kitty in a facsimile of Karl's woeful tone. "No one's been to visit me."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I would have come, but I've been travelling on several assignments by order of the Emperor…"

"Yes, you get to see the world while I'm stuck here writing scrolls with my own blood, just like father. I'm dying Mia. If I have to keep doing this, I won't last much longer."

Mia's eyes watered as she gently rubbed her little brother's head.

"Shh, everything's going to be okay. You've done enough. Zaba isn't going to force you to make any more golems. Not when these are more than enough to quell the British. He'll be long gone in London soon. The invasion starts as soon as the assassins are prepared to take out the Prime Minister." I translated the whole latter half of the exchange in one hurried breath and spun around to face Kitty.

"I hate to interrupt this little family drama, but Kitty, it almost sounds as if…"

I trailed off as I realized Kitty wasn't listening, or even looking at me. Instead her eyes were wide and unfocused as her brain lost its footing and tumbled headfirst into the darkness of her lost memories.

oooooooooooooo

_"Kathleen Jones," came Farrar's snide tone. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting a visit from you."_

_Kitty ignored her, instead opting to gently shut the office door for the sake of discretion. Yes, the woman before her may have completely deserved the humiliation of being confronted in the presence of her subordinates, but Kitty had learned long ago that a diplomatic approach was often the best option._

_"Jane," she began, taking the seat across from Farrar's desk. (It was a flimsy plastic model with uneven legs. A disappointingly obvious ploy to gain the upper hand, Kitty thought.) "I'm sure you have fond memories of the cabinet's Christmas party last night."_

_In fact, Kitty was pretty sure that Farrar didn't remember much of the event.. The police chief had had several drinks too many and had spent the evening pissed out of her mind, flirting shamelessly with the elderly Mr. Button, until she'd finally passed out in an ignominious heap in the parking lot._

_Farrar's poisonous smile tightened. "Were you there, Ms. Jones? I can't recall. If I remember correctly, political events are intended for politicians, and you, darling, are a commoner."_

_"Half of parliament is made up of commoners now," Kitty reminded her sweetly. "And as for myself, though I wouldn't normally dream of intruding on the tedious company of our dear politicians, I was there by Piper's request."_

_By now, Farrar's smile was nothing but a tight, menacing show of teeth. "Our Prime Minister," she ground out, "Always enjoys such curious company."_

_"Indeed. Now, I suppose you don't remember your brief acquaintance with the asphalt last night, but I do. Several of us had to lift you into a taxi, and I believe poor Mr. Smith sacrificed his entire night to take you home." Kitty held up a hand as Farrar, face an angry boiling red, opened her mouth to interrupt. "Now, hold on a moment. What is the relevance of all this, you ask? Well Jane, after you left I noticed you had dropped something. Specifically, this."_

_Kitty held up a neatly addressed envelope. The intricate wax seal bore the coat of arms of the Czech Emperor, and it had obviously been opened. Farrar's eyes grew round and she took on the frantic appearance of a wild animal cornered by hunters._

_"That's nothing!" She cried. "It's not even mine!"_

_"Shall I read it? Dear Ms. Farrar: Thank you for your untiring efforts on our behalf. We will soon be poised to make our move, and are pleased to hear that HE is IN. Separately enclosed is a list of confidential documents we require. Please send them to us via the usual route. Signed, Miroslav Schulz - liaison for His Majesty, Emperor Vavrin Zaba."_

_Kitty folded the letter away and calmly studied her opponent from across the desk. "Clearly you've been conspiring with the Czechs. Do you know what the government would call this, Jane? Treason. If your superiors were to get wind of this, you'd lose your job, your freedom, your reputation. Everything."_

_Farrar held her head high. "It sounds as though you're offering me a deal."_

_"Of a sort. I want you to tell me what Zaba is planning. Everyone knows he'd like nothing more than Britain on a silver platter. You tell me everything the Czechs have communicated to you, and in exchange, I return this letter, and you can dispose of it however you wish."_

_The politician paused as though considering. "No."_

_"You're having difficulty deciding what to do. Very well, I understand your hesitation. I can give you two weeks. Two weeks and after that, I go to the authorities."_

_Farrar sniffed imperiously. "Why would I agree? You don't have anything solid against me in that letter. You have no idea of the intent behind it."_

_"It seems to me that your intentions, whatever they may be, are clearly not honourable."_

_Farrar's face contorted in rage. "Honourable? An honourable person wouldn't have been tampering with someone else's personal property."_

_"Perhaps, but I'm just a commoner and hardly worthy of honour. Remember?" Kitty rose graciously from her seat and reached for the doorknob. "Goodbye Jane. I'll see you in two weeks."_

oooooooooooooo

Kitty blinked as she came to.

"Damn it!" She nearly cried before Bartimaeus clamped a hand over her mouth. She continued to vent at a volume more conducive to their attempt at stealth. "That snake! Farrar is the one who told the Czechs to have me killed!"

"What?" Bartimaeus whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Jane. I found out she was working for the Emperor, and when I threatened to expose her, she had me knocked off!"

Bartimaeus smirked at her offended tone. "Well, that makes sense. We always knew Farrar was a –"

Suddenly the djinni stopped, and Kitty met his worried eyes with a feeling of dawning horror.

"Bostwick!" They cried simultaneously.

oooooooooooooo

The letter rattled like a leaf in the wind in Bostwick's nervous hands. Beads of cold sweat dropped from his forehead and soaked into the fragile paper, causing the fine ink letters to bleed into each other.

The envelope had been carefully hidden, as if the owner had suspected someone would attempt to steal it. Really it was no wonder he had missed it on his first perusal of the crime scene. And no wonder that Farrar's lackeys had been unable to find it in the aftermath.

Farrar. Bostwick's fists clenched involuntarily, crunching the slip of paper between them. He let it slip numbly from his fingers, watching almost disinterestedly as it drifted to the floor like a feather.

Straightening with steeled resolve, Bostwick stepped over the fallen letter and stalked out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. He was going to find Farrar, and when he did, she was going to regret ever laying eyes on Kitty Jones.


	10. Loss and Gain

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Another chapter has arrived. Nari, Lisette, The13th Faerie, Duckweed, Bibby, and Tane, you have my profuse thanks for your reviews! You guys are all pretty awesome. And thank you to Lady Noir for her speedy editing skills. Happy reading!

* * *

We nearly overshot London, flying as fast as we were. Kitty and I had taken on the swiftest forms we could muster, and as twin beams of light we seared the skies above Europe clear across to the tiny scrap of green that floated serenely in the North Atlantic Ocean. Somewhere on that little island, Bostwick bumbled through his fruitless investigation, unaware of the danger that hung over his head like a sharpened ax. If Farrar had the guts to kill Kitty, she'd certainly have no qualms about offing our talentless friend.

We finally plunked down on the gentle slope of Bostwick's roof, and with a barely suppressed cry of relief, Ptolemy collapsed onto his back. My limbs were absolute jelly, and I felt as if I'd left half my essence back in Prague. I coaxed an eye open to check on Kitty, who lay equally incapacitated beside me.

"What," she panted, "Are you smiling at?"

I let my eyes flick shut once more as I felt the aforementioned smile spread over my face. Kitty's dark hair poofed out around her head in a crazy ball of fluff, giving one the impression that she'd been struck by lightning.

"Oh, nothing."

"Sure it's nothing," she grumbled, poking me in the side. Either she was too weak to make it hurt, or I was too numb to feel it.

We lay there panting for a moment, and attempted to piece ourselves back together. [1. For the record, travelling at three-hundred million meters per second tends to give one the most _awful_ windburn. Ptolemy was lucky I'd managed to rally up some skin for him.] Finally, Kitty leveraged herself up on her elbows and managed to stumble to her feet. For a moment, she tottered unsteadily on the mossy shingles.

"Come on, we've wasted enough time," she said, offering me her hand. I wrapped my fingers around hers and allowed myself to be pulled to my feet.

Kitty, unfortunately, had overestimated her own strength, and last thing I saw was her surprised expression as she stumbled and slipped over the edge of the roof. I lurched forwards, connected to the falling girl by our interwoven fingers. The next thing my sluggish brain registered was the clunking sound of Ptolemy's bones jarring together as I got to know the ground more intimately than ever before. Boy, I was sure taking a beating today – not that I'd be caught complaining.

There was a slight moan from somewhere near my right ear. I craned my head around and came eye-to-eye with Kitty, whom I'm afraid to say, I had landed on.

I rolled over and eyed my prone friend.

"Are you alright?" I asked, my tone betraying perhaps a bit more concern than I might have liked. As a spirit, the girl was certainly a lot more durable then her human counterpart. However, I was well equipped to testify to the fact that even we spirits were capable of experiencing vast amounts of pain.

"I think everything's still in its place." She replied stoically, giving her toes an experimental wriggle. I eased myself up into a sitting position and inspected her for injuries myself. She looked alright, despite her recent squashing, and I took the opportunity to reach over and smooth down her wild hair. She blinked up at me, her mouth forming a small, surprised 'o' as my fingers slid through the hopelessly tangled locks.

"Bartimaeus?" A small line of confusion developed between her brows.

I coughed awkwardly and pulled away. "Uh, so, front door then?"

We got to our feet, this time without any incident, and made our way into Bostwick's house. Kitty took the form of a dust-coloured pigeon and perched on my shoulder; it wouldn't do for the magician to see her. Strangely enough, we found the front door was unlocked. Usually a bad sign.

"Bostwick?" I called.

No answer. Yup, the boy was doomed.

"What's that?" Kitty pointed a wing towards a folded scrap of paper that lay discarded on the ground. I picked it up and looked it over.

"It's the letter I found that incriminates Farrar," said Kitty, "Bostwick must have found it. Which means…"

"Fabulous," I replied, catching her drift, "He's gone to confront her."

oooooooooooooo

Kitty shifted restlessly on Bartimaeus' shoulder as Jane's elegant Victorian-style townhouse loomed up ahead. Somehow, in spite of its clean white façade and charming wrought-iron fencing, the building managed to look sinister. Bartimaeus slipped through the gate and knocked urgently on the front door.

"Can I help you?" a snappily dressed doorman asked upon opening the door.

"Yes," said the djinni, "I need to speak with Ms. Farrar immediately. I've just received some vital information on the Jones case."

"That's the second one today," the doorman remarked blandly, stepping aside and ushering them in. He led them down the immaculate front hallway and into a small, lavishly furnished antechamber.

"If you'll just wait here, Ms. Farrar will see you when she's ready." With that, the man exited, shutting the door behind him.

"Bartimaeus, is that you?" asked an incredulous voice. Kitty spun around, to see Bostwick perched awkwardly in a chair that was far too small for his long gangly legs. She breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't too late.

"Bostwick," Bartimaeus began, "You have to get out of here right now. Jane is –"

Bostwick waved his hand. "I know exactly what Jane is. That's why I'm here. She killed Ms. Jones to hide the fact that she's been passing information to the Czech government all this time. And then she assigned _me_ to investigate the murder – _me_! You were right. The only way anyone would hand me a big case like that is if they were trying to cover something up. But she was wrong – I know exactly what happened, and I'm going to expose her. I have to –"

"The only thing you _have_to do is get out of here." Bartimaeus interrupted. "You don't know the half of it. Farrar has an entire secret society of assassins under her employ, and their next target is the Prime Minister. And from the looks of things, Zaba's putting the finishing touches on an army of golems set to invade Britain. If you get yourself killed right now, which you undoubtedly will by the way, who's going to warn Rebecca Piper? You think you can take Farrar in a fight?"

Bostwick pursed his lips so hard they turned a sickly shade of white. "Don't you see? All this time I've been helping Ms. Farrar conceal her crimes, and I didn't even know it! You know, on the night of the demon revolt, I was one of the hostages in the Great Glass Palace. The demons were picking us off, one by one. I thought for sure I was a goner. Suddenly Mandrake came, and started shooting off blasts from that staff of his, and everyone was running in all directions like a bunch of headless chickens. It was chaos."

Bostwick's voice grew quiet as he continued. "Then, there was Ms. Jones. She gathered us together, showed us how to escape. She showed us the way – that's what she always did, isn't it? She saved my life. If it weren't for Kitty Jones, I'd be _dead_. If you think I'm going to walk out of here and let her murderer go free, you're sadly mistaken!"

"Use your brain, you half-wit!" Bartimaeus urged. "You're no good to her dead!"

"You wouldn't understand matters of honour, of course, you're a demon. But please accept that I have to do this."

The argument was going nowhere, and Kitty realized this was her cue to step in. With a flutter of wings, she took off from Bartimaeus' shoulder and hovered in front of Bostwick in a very un-pigeon-like way.

"James," Bostwick nearly jumped out of his skin as the floating bird spoke his name. "That's all very well, and I thank you for the sentiment, but right now you have more important things to worry about."

"Who are you?" Bostwick asked, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. 'I didn't summon you!"

"No," Kitty replied, "But you did drag me here accidentally when you summoned Bartimaeus."

She flitted to the ground and would have revealed her true form, had the door to the adjoining room not suddenly swung open to reveal a neatly attired Jane Farrar, complete with dragon spirit wrapped around her neck.

As it was, Kitty leapt back to hide behind Ptolemy's leg, and Bostwick fixed his angry eyes on the angular woman before him.

"Farrar," He bit out.

Farrar lifted a manicured eyebrow. "Bostwick. What do you want? Williams told me you have information on the Jones case."

"I do," said Bostwick. "You told me to inform you if I found anything at the scene of the crime. Well I did."

Farrar stiffed, then relaxed as a false smile overtook her lips. "You did? Ah, I must have underestimated you. Was it anything useful?"

"It was a letter." Farrar's smile faltered, and Bostwick rubbed his head in agitation. "A letter I found, hidden behind a picture frame. Funny enough, Jane, it was addressed to _you_."

"Why would Kitty Jones possess a letter written to me?" replied Jane through clenched teeth. "Surely you must be mistaken."

"Don't give me that. I know everything. _You_are the one who orchestrated Kitty's death. You hired the assassins that killed her. And why? Because she'd discovered that you've been dealing with Zaba behind all of our backs. That letter is proof!"

"Why would you say something like that, James? You know it's not true."

Bostwick shook his head. "You're a traitor and a murderer, and I'm going to let everyone know it!"

Farrar paused; fingers rising up to calmly stroke the head of the spirit on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that James. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Bostwick glared. "After parliament hears about this, you won't see anything outside a prison cell for the rest of your life."

"I see," said Farrar. A grim smile tainted her lips. "Well then. Sirrush?"

The dragon on her shoulder perked up its head, and before anyone had time to react, a dazzling green light flashed and the magician crumpled into a lifeless heap on the floor.

Kitty stared at the body, unable to believe that the boy was gone. Surely he'd get up any moment and dust himself off? But the seconds ticked by, and Bostwick didn't move, and with a sudden spasm of horror, Kitty realized that the djinni in front of her was starting to look very transparent.

"No! Bartimaeus – no! You're disappearing!" She cried.

The djinni blinked down at her, and stared at his palms. "The summons is broken," he said apologetically.

"Stop it! Don't leave me here!" She pleaded. But there was nothing the djinni could do. In another instant he was gone from sight, leaving Kitty alone with the young detective's limp corpse, and the steely-eyed police chief who was now staring at her strangely.

"Who are you?" Farrar asked, stepping lightly over Bostwick's body. "You're not one of Bostwick's spirits."

"She's not any kind of spirit," the slender dragon interjected, "She's a human on the seventh plane."

Farrar looked taken aback. Well, there was nothing for it now. Kitty stretched her essence upward and took her own familiar shape.

"It's me, Farrar," she replied in a deep, sinister voice that she hoped would intimidate the magician. "Did you think my spirit could rest in peace after what you did to me?"

"Kathleen Jones!" Farrar backed away in a blind panic, stumbling over Bostwick and falling to the floor. "Sirrush!" she screamed, "Do something! Kill her!"

The dragon raised a taloned hand to comply. Kitty stared at him head on, wondering if her resilience still applied now that she was dead.

Suddenly a low voice echoed through the room, breaking up their grisly tableau.

"Jane, stop."

The voice lingered in her ears, strangely and inexplicably familiar. Kitty slowly turned her head to view her saviour.

A dark haired young man stood in the doorway, with a slight frown tugging at his lips. He was clad in a pair of ridiculous striped cotton pajamas, and his face was badly scarred, but she could still recognize him, clear as day. Clear as the bright flash of light that she had thought had destroyed him.

Nathaniel. Alive.


	11. A Pack of Lies

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Hi everyone! Boy, last chapter sure evoked a response! Count Vladimir, MissMili, Starburstia, nari, Tane, Duckweed, Bibby, Lisette, The Broken Pentacle, The One Called Dementra, and Riiko Shea: thank you all for reviewing. I apologize for the wait – I didn't intend to leave you hanging for two weeks, but it's crunch time at school and exams are in a week… After that's over I should be able to be more consistent. As usual, this chapter was beta-ed by the amazing Lady Noir- thanks Lady!

* * *

_London, England, three years earlier_…

Writhing plumes of smoke still billowed up from the smashed remains of the glass palace, staining the sky above the city with angry, bruise-coloured clouds. Three days, and still volunteer workers had yet to extinguish the last of the fires. Jane Farrar pulled her hat down over her ears and huddled deeper into the shadow of Wellington Arch. She could not risk being recognized these days – not with London in ruins, the government in shambles, and the people rioting in the streets. The commoners, she knew, were looking for someone to blame, and would just love to get their claws into the woman in charge of the despotic police state they had so recently overthrown. For now at least, London was not a safe place for a magician.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the passing pedestrians break from the crowd, moving towards her with single-minded purpose. She tensed, a command ready on her lips, before recognizing the wiry figure shambling towards her.

"Ma'am," the man said, tipping his hat. Parliament's decision to disband the Night Police had forced him to hang up his uniform, but the scraggly, bearded fellow was still one of her loyal wolves.

"Mason," she replied in turn. "What are you doing here? I told all of you not to approach me in public."

Mason twisted his hat in his hands. "Yes, ma'am, I apologize ma'am. The others sent me to get you. Thing is – we found 'im."

Farrar stiffened. "You _found_ him? Where is he?"

The ex-policeman bowed his head. "If you'll just follow me, I can take you there."

Eyeing the throng of passing people warily, Farrar stepped out from the shelter of the arch. Mason nodded and turned on his heels, elbowing his way through the crowded street toward what remained of Hyde Park.

The neatly clipped lawn was broken by upturned clods of earth and shallow craters where magical blasts had struck. Farrar's heeled shoes sunk into the soft soil in a most infuriating manner, threatening to topple her over and steal whatever dignity she still had left. On the hill above, she could see a smoldering mess where the Palace had once sat. A few twisted beams of iron still stood, like the bare ribs of some great creature jutting out from a rotting carcass of ash, rubble, and glass.

"How did he survive?" Farrar muttered as Mason gestured her towards the foliage of an uprooted tree. A few grey-clad figures guarded something hidden beneath the branches. They nodded respectfully and stepped back at her approach.

"He didn't."

Farrar wasn't a woman given to empathy, but even she was taken aback by the state of the pale corpse that lay face down in the dirt under the tree. The face was charred nearly beyond recognition, and the skin punctured in a dozen places by jagged glass shrapnel. The blackened fragments of cloth that had survived the blast had melted into the skin, and the hair had been completely singed off the head. Still, there was no mistaking whose broken body it was that lay crumpled at her feet. There had been only one human casualty in the explosion that night.

"We dug through ten feet of glass to find 'im," Mason commented, "Poor bloke was long dead by the time we dragged 'im out here."

Farrar's fingers toyed with the chain of the amulet around her neck, and suddenly she was all business. "Well, I suppose it could only have been expected. Boys, please take the body back to my car."

The others bent to lift the carcass, but Mason stood blinking stupidly at her.

"What do you want 'im for?" he asked, "Can't we just give 'im a proper burial and be done with it?"

Farrar's eyes narrowed furiously and the wolf backed up several steps. "How many times must I tell you," she hissed, "_Never_ to question an order?"

oooooooooooooo

Two hours later, the body lay out stiff and white on her bed at home. Farrar stared contemplatively at it, tapping her chin with one finger. Her wolves had helped her bandage the wounds and remove the worst of the blood. White gauze now wrapped around the top half of the scarred face. It was a shame about his eyes; she could still remember the piercing determination that had once shone in there depths. That would be gone for good, now.

Farrar knew what to do, but the question was, would it work? She gave a long-suffering sigh. If it didn't, she could smother him with a pillow easily enough.

The little golden dragon curled around the lamp on her dresser perked up its head and watched her curiously.

"You're not thinking of fixing him, are you?" it asked, "Just look at that thing. All that damage, all that time past. He'll come back all wrong."

Farrar pursed her lips. "I'm counting on it."

Her dark hair shrouded her face as she bent her head and removed the amulet that hung from her neck with near-reverent care. She held the trinket up by its chain for a moment, letting the golden pendant spin in a slow circle, casting small spots of light upon the walls of the room. Hieroglyphs set deep into the gold glinted as they danced around the jackal-headed figure in the centre – Anubis, the Egyptian god of the underworld.

This was a precious item indeed, Farrar thought as she slipped the chain around the corpse's neck – one that she'd thought, or at least hoped, that she'd never have to use. Should anyone learn of its existence, she held no illusions that she wouldn't be instantly killed over it. She'd been the first of the treasure-hunters to ransack her old master Duvall's horde of artifacts after his fall from grace. She'd known exactly where he kept it in the back of that old cabinet in his study, the one he'd always told her not to open on pain of death. Ironic, really.

She turned her attention to the figure on the bed. Slowly, the body was changing. The skin, which had only a minute ago been as pale as the sheets beneath it, was taking on colour. A few of the smaller burns were closing, leaving rigid white scars. The amulet on his chest glowed like molten metal – Jane could feel its heat from where she stood.

Tentatively, she reached out towards the pale line of his neck. A breath of relief hissed out from between her clenched teeth as a warm pulse beat slowly beneath her fingers.

"Welcome back, John Mandrake," she murmured.

The spirit's tail swished back and forth like a cat's and its eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Unconscious, but breathing," it quipped, "That's powerful magic there."

"Sirrush," Farrar commanded, eyes never leaving the reposing figure, "Call a cab to take us to the airport."

As the dragon slipped from its perch and glided out the open window, a small smile crept over the woman's face. Kitty Jones and her commoner friends may have won for now, but Jane Farrar still had an ace up her sleeve.

Oooooooooooooo

_13 Královická Street, Prague…_

The ancient timbers of the house groaned as Farrar slammed the front door shut and stalked into the house in high dudgeon. The Czech officials were not pleased upon finding a British ex-politician in their ranks, and a high-ranking one at that. It was only because of the Emperor's protection that she hadn't been instantly deported in the first place. Unless she came up with some speedy results soon, her support would evaporate and Jane would find herself out on her ear. She hung her scarf up on the hook and massaged her temples – what more could she do to placate those wretched Czech nationalists?

Suddenly, from upstairs, the faint sound of a male voice made her blood run cold.

"Is… is someone there?"

Farrar dropped her handbag and rushed up the staircase, nearly tripping over her own feet. She burst into the bedroom, causing the young man in the bed to start back.

There he was. Awake, finally, after three weeks of uncertainty.

John stared around the room with glassy, unfocused eyes. Blind then, just as she'd thought. That, perhaps, could work in her favour – convince him to rely on her, build up his trust. Farrar smiled nastily.

"John," her voice was saccharine, "You're awake!"

His scarred skin stretched as he frowned.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was rough with disuse. "What happened?"

Farrar leaned closer and smoothed the hair off his pale forehead. "It's me, Jane."

The line between Mandrakes brows deepened, and he shook his head slightly. The name was unfamiliar to him.

Amnesia, was it? Jane pursed her lips, thinking hard and fast.

"You mean you don't recognize your own sister?"

"I don't remember anything," he replied.

"You poor thing," cooed Farrar as she sat down on the edge of his bed, "Let me explain. Your name is John Mandrake, and you were the greatest British magician since Gladstone himself."

The man on the bed arched an eyebrow. "I was?" he asked skeptically.

Farrar nodded and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You were a minister – you practically ran the government, in fact. And the people – they all loved you. Well," her voice sharpened dramatically. "At least most of them did. You see John, there was a small sect of radical commoners – non-magical folk you understand, and they wanted nothing more than to lay waste to parliament. They were terrorists, agents of anarchy, a cult known as the Resistance. Their folly is how all this happened."

"What are you talking about?" John's voice wavered.

"About three weeks ago, this group found a way to release demons from the control of their masters. It was utter chaos. Fire, destruction… hundreds of people were killed. Thousands more would have died, if it hadn't been for you. When it looked as though the entire city was doomed, you took up Gladstone's staff and destroyed the revolting demons with no thought to your own safety. You were… gravely injured in the process. I found you hours later, lying in the middle of the road. People were passing by but no one stopped to see if you were alright. No one cared what happened to the man who saved their lives."

Mandrake frowned. "That can't be right."

Farrar's fingers clenched around his shoulder. "It's _true_. And do you want to know why? In the midst of the confusion, while you were busy sacrificing your life, the Resistance staged a coup and drove all the magicians out of parliament. Commoners have taken over the government, lead by that little termite Rebecca Piper, who switched sides in the middle of the fight–"

"Drove them out?"

"That's why we're here in Prague instead of in London where we belong. We've been exiled." Farrar sighed dramatically. "My only regret is leaving our poor subjects at the mercy of the Commoner's Parliament. But who knows," She leaned in close, eyes aflame, "We may yet be able to help them. Lie there and recover awhile, brother, and with Zaba's help, we can liberate Britain when the time is right."

oooooooooooooo

Kitty swayed uncertainly on her feet as the blood rushed away from her head. She was looking into a dead man's face – the thought kept playing over and over again in her mind. Her thoughts spun wildly, unable to accept what lay before her eyes.

The young man in the doorway shifted uncomfortably, as if he could sense the disbelieving eyes on him, even without sight. It was Farrar who finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"John," her voice was patient, but it carried an undertone of worry, "what is it?"

Nathaniel leaned heavily against the doorpost and turned his face in Jane's direction. "You were going to kill her."

"I'm afraid you don't understand, John. She knows far too much – she's on the government's side!"

"You never said anything about killing anyone when I agreed to this."

"She's one of _them_ John," Farrar protested, "She's dangerous – a radical. And don't give me all your moral misgivings; she's not even human anymore."

Nathaniel shook his head. "She may be dangerous, perhaps, but please don't kill her Jane."

Farrar threw up her hands in exasperation. "Why?"

Nathaniel paused. His face turned towards Kitty, almost as if to contemplate her, though his eyes landed somewhere to the right of her left ear.

"It's... I just can't let you do it."

Kitty finally found her voice. "Nathaniel," she said tentatively, "It's me, Kitty. Don't… don't you remember?"

The man's dark eyebrows pulled together as he frowned and tilted his head questioningly. As he opened his mouth to speak, Farrar jumped forwards and latched onto his elbow.

"That's enough small-talk, I think. You want her alive? Fine. Sirrush, show Ms. Jones to the guest room, and don't take your eyes off her. We can't have our little ghost friend spoiling our plans just when they're on the brink of fruition."

The dragon hopped off Farrar's shoulder and glided towards the half-stunned girl. She craned her neck around as the spirit ushered her out of room, unable to tear her eyes from the dark-haired man by Jane Farrar's side until the door shut and they were lost from sight.


	12. Trust Me

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Hey guys! I seem to have managed to type up another chapter between exams (when I should be studying!). Nari, Kelcia, Riiko Shea, Duchessa, Duckweed, Lisette, Stormchylde, Tane, and Bibby – thank you all for your encouraging reviews! A big thanks to Lady Noir for beta-ing this chapter. Oh, by the way, there's a new B/K story out by Count Vladimir Dracul and so far I'm the only one who's reviewed. Go check it out, it's under my favourites. And so, onwards with the story!

* * *

Kitty's prison was no more than a tiny upstairs bedroom, and her jailer simply Farrar's little yellow dragon spirit – a ripe setting for an easy break-out. Kitty calculated her chances of escape as she sat on the edge of the floral bedspread under the spirits wide-eyed, unblinking gaze. She still had the Hurricane cube in her pocket – no one had thought to check her for weapons. She curled her fingers around it and eyed her guard.

Was he an imp or a djinni? The cube might be able to take down a fairly minor imp, but if Sirrush was a djinni she'd be wasting precious resources. His form only extended up four planes…would a djinni's reach further?

No – she let the cube fall back into her pocket and folded her hands in her lap – best to save her little secret for Farrar. Surely Jane would come up to check on her prisoner sooner or later, and with no resistance to speak of the magician would be easily taken out. Patience was the key here. Kitty sighed and leaned back on her arms – patience was not her strong point, and in the silence, the events of the afternoon were swinging around to hit her full force.

Bostwick dead, Bartimaeus gone, Nathaniel alive and no-one knew – Kitty seethed silently. Farrar was pure, utter slime, and that was all there was to it.

The back of her head tingled oddly, and Kitty glanced over her shoulder. Sirrush was still sitting on the nightstand, staring at her with gigantic pop-out eyes like an astonished lemur. He was getting disconcertingly close to the back of her neck.

"Stop staring at me!" she said, swatting the small creature away.

The dragon blinked, then leaned in barely an inch from her nose.

"The mistress says I mustn't take my eyes off you," he replied. Kitty folded her arms and gave it a no-nonsense glare.

"Then watch me from over _there_!" she gestured pointedly to the windowsill across the room. The dragon was starting to creep her out with its overenthusiastic interpretation of Farrar's orders.

Sirrush gave an indignant _humph_ and settled back on his haunches.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

"Sirrush?" Farrar's muffled voice called, "Is the prisoner secure?"

The dragon wound itself around Kitty's shoulders before blithely calling out, "Yes mistress!" The door swung open and in strode Farrar, her normally tidy hair flying out around her face.

"Good. We have to work quickly, the invasion is already underway. John and I need to be at the studio in an hour or this will all have been pointless."

Kitty's fingers itched, and slowly she reached a hand into her pocket as Farrar went on. As if sensing her intent, the spirit's tail constricted around her neck in sharp warning. Reluctantly she released the cube and withdrew her hand. The oblivious magician continued.

"What I want you to do is stay here and guard the prisoner, and then once we've gone, you kill her. Thoroughly. We'll tell John she escaped, and it will be like this never happened. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am!" The spirit saluted.

"You seem to have escaped one death Kitty," Farrar snarled, "But I have no problem trying again."

"Well, that's no surprise," Kitty replied dryly.

Farrar merely looked down her nose at her, then turned on her heel and strode back out through the door.

Kitty released a shuttering sigh. What on earth was she supposed to do? Here she was: captured by an enemy, with her country in danger and her best friend gone, while her former ally had seemingly joined the other side and supposedly didn't remember her. To top it all off, death was looking rather imminent, and Sirrush's ominous grin was making her hackles rise.

A sudden crash downstairs followed by a stream of choice swearwords nearly made her leap out of her skin, tense as she was.

"Sirrush!" Farrar cried shrilly, "Get down here! Now!"

Sirrush glanced reluctantly at his prisoner, then back to the door. He hesitated a moment, then cast a quick Impediment on the shuttered window and slipped hastily out the door.

He hadn't been gone ten seconds when the door slowly creaked open once more, and a different figure altogether crept stealthily into the room, pausing to listen nervously down the hallway before shutting the door without a noise. Kitty sat motionless on the bed, waiting cagily for the silent man to make the first move.

"Kathleen Jones?" Nathaniel finally asked.

Kitty relaxed and allowed herself a smirk. "Nathaniel. So, what did you do to poor Jane?"

The young magician rubbed his head guiltily. "Er…I wanted to talk to you before I left."

"Oh?"

There was an awkward pause; Nathaniel shifted uneasily.

"Are you comfortable?" he finally asked.

Kitty blinked uncertainly. "In my captivity?" she asked incredulously.

Nathaniel shrugged. "You may be a prisoner, but there's certainly no call to mistreat you. I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed."

Kitty folder her arms and gave him a challenging glare that she knew he couldn't see, but she hoped he could sense. "Now that you mention it, I am getting pretty lonely here. I'd like to talk to Bartimaeus, if you don't mind – the spirit who was with me."

She searched his face for a reaction, but there was no sign of recognition at the mention of the djinni's name.

"Well, you can't do that right now, of course," he said almost apologetically, "but as soon as the invasion is underway, I'll have Jane let you go, and you can go ahead and summon it whenever you like."

Kitty gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh, let me go, eh? They're going to kill me the moment you turn your back. Tell me Nathaniel," she suddenly stood up to face him, "Do you really not remember me?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because it's your name. Do you remember or not?"

Nathaniel was at a loss. "I…don't remember a lot of things, to be frank. But I have heard a lot about you Ms. Jones, and I am fairly certain you and I have never before met in person. Jane warned me that you would lie."

Her teeth clenched involuntarily. "_Jane_ is your enemy!"

Nathaniel had the gall to look offended.

"She's my sister!" he protested

Kitty's jaw dropped. "Is that what she told you? How can you believe that rubbish?"

She wasn't getting anywhere. There was nothing she could do to convince him, if his stoic silence and the stubborn set of his jaw were anything to go on. She took a deep calming breath and tried a different tack.

"Nathaniel, please," her voice was supplicating, "I know I'm going to die. Just let me talk to Bartimaeus one last time. Won't you summon him for me? You'd have complete control over him. All I'm asking for is the chance to say goodbye before Farrar has me executed."

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair and shifted uneasily. "…I'd like to help you Ms. Jones," he said, "But I'm afraid I can't. I haven't practiced magic since my accident. Without my vision it's far too dangerous to attempt a summons."

"But I'm here. I know how it's done. I could walk you through it!"

"That would hardly be acceptable. You could easily guide me wrong and leave me at the demon's mercy."

"But I wouldn't!"

"How would I know that?"

"Because!" Kitty yelled furiously, "You _trust_ me! You may not remember me, you may not believe me, but you _do_ trust me even if you don't know why!"

Nathaniel stared at the seething girl in shocked surprise for a tense moment, and then, without a word, turned and left the room. Kitty slumped heavily to the ground, feeling suddenly claustrophobic between the four papered walls of the guestroom. It was starting to come back to her that reasoning with Nathaniel was about as frustrating as attempting to dig a hole to China with a toothpick and a bit of moist sponge.

Her head perked up as, unexpectedly, the door reopened and the young magician returned with arms loaded. Stacks of parchment, charcoal, chalk incense, herbs – he dumped them unceremoniously on the floor and turned to face Kitty, his eyes somehow finding hers even without sight.

"Alright," he said, "Clear a space. First you'll have to help me sketch out the pentacle before –"

He was cut off by a sudden roar of wind as Kitty smoked him with the activated hurricane cube. A violent gust of air erupted from the tiny box, sending the chalk and incense flying in all directions. The young man was carried right off his feet and slammed headfirst into the wall, leaving a sizable dent that would make even the most stouthearted cringe.

For a moment, Kitty stared at his prone form, panting under the adrenaline rush and biting back a rush of guilt. But there was no time for second guesses. She grabbed the nearest stick of chalk and began drawing faster than she'd ever drawn in her life.

oooooooooooooo

The summons, already a frail and tenuous thing thanks to Bostwick's glaring lack of talent, snapped like a thread of dental floss as its creator hit the floor. I was drawn away from the solidity of Earth, my essence slowly seeping back to its homeland like the tide receding from the shore. The last thing I saw before disappearing from the mortal plane was Kitty's horrified eyes as she realized she was going to have to face this alone.

Somehow the open spaces and radiant swirling of energies of the Other Place had lost their charm for me. I, for the first time in my long career, found myself itching to get back to Earth. Every second I spent in the spirit realm was a second Kitty spent fighting for her life, on her own with a woman who had already managed to kill her once. Once again I was ripped away from someone I cared about in their hour of need, and I had to face the possibility that like Ptolemy and Nathaniel before her, I had just seen the last of Kathleen Jones.

When the tugging at my essence finally came, I was off like a shot. Surely the girl had somehow escaped and was now calling me back to her side. [1. Yes, it could have been Farrar out for sweet revenge after already offing Kitty, but I preferred to go with the best case scenario. Call me an optimist.]

For once in my life, I wasn't disappointed. No, seriously. The instant I materialized in the simple chalk circle I was nearly knocked off my feet by a flying weight that wrapped its arms around me with a force that threatened to squash Ptolemy's ribs. She was alive – I felt the heap of bricks that had been crushing my chest for the past hour or so sprout wings and flutter away. In fact, she was _very_ alive if the strength with which she was currently compressing my lungs was any indication

"Kitty, you're strangling me," I gasped, finding my voice.

"You're strangling me too," she choked back. I realized with sudden consternation that somehow my arms had wrapped themselves around the girl and I was squeezing her just as hard as she was squeezing me.

Well, once we got all that sorted out and everyone's limbs were back where they belonged, I noticed an odd flickering expression on Kitty's face.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It's…well, see for yourself." She gestured vaguely behind her, where a skinny, dark-haired person lay crumpled by the wall. I gave a low whistle.

"Wow, I've got to hand it to you. You really knocked her out cold!"

Kitty's eyebrows twitched upwards. "_Her?_"

"…and here I was worrying. I should have figured you'd just punch Farrar's lights out!"

Kitty bit her lip. "Bartimaeus, that…is not Jane Farrar."

With wary eyes fixed on me as if to study my reaction, Kitty slowly bent down and nudged the figure over so that its face flopped towards me.

I rubbed my eyes, blinked, and stared down at the figure.

"Dear god," I blurted out, "…it's Nathaniel!"


	13. Inferno

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: I'm freeee! Exams are over, school's out, and I don't start work for another two weeks - sound like prime writing time! In celebration, here's a nice extra long chapter. Thanks to Lady Noir who beta-ed this chapter, and thank you everybody who reviewed the last chapter: Tane, Duckweed, Nari-Nick, Pope Ventresca, Lisette, Lifelock pentacle, Riiko Shea, and Allendra - thanks for making me a happy author! :) By the way, if you're interested in seeing some fanart of Restless Spirit, Tane (Ebele on Deviantart) has done an awesome picture which you can find at ebele (dot) deviantart (dot) com. If you missed it, Nari (Rhysenne on Deviantart) has also done some beautiful fanart for Restless Spirit, which you can find at rhysenne (dot) deviantart (dot) com. Go check them out, you won't regret it!

* * *

The air in the tiny room had gone suddenly stale. Kitty was staring at me hesitantly, waiting for a response. I myself was staring at Nathaniel, fully expecting the undead boy to leap up and try to eat my brain, while Nathaniel – well, he wasn't staring at anything, unless the backs of his eyelids count.

Nathaniel. I didn't really know how to feel. Here was the one person I had never expected to see again – he'd died and I had come to terms with that. Sure the kid and I had never gotten along to well, but in the end even I had to admit that he had turned out a lot more decent then I had given him credit for. Heroic, even. And now, here he was, alive – though apparently laid low by Kitty's wrath.

"Um, what exactly happened?" I asked.

Kitty shook her head, looking like she was two seconds away from loosing it. "I don't know, I don't know!" she cried with uncharacteristic animation. "He just showed up out of nowhere. He doesn't remember anything at all – he thinks _Farrar_'s his sister!"

"That's…disturbing."

Kitty wrung her hands. "It's more than disturbing! He's been dead for three years and now here he is!"

"Hang on Kitty, calm down. Sure this is weird, but as you may recollect, there _are_ ways to circumvent death. "

Nathaniel was still out cold on the floor. I knelt down to check out the considerable goose-egg that was developing beneath all that hair. [1. Some things never change. Like the speed of light, Nathaniel's foppish long hair was an immortal constant of the universe. Reality probably hinged on it.] Kitty's assault on the boy's person was all well and amusing, but there was no sense in damaging him further.

Kitty hovered over me, still disquieted.

"But it makes no sense. How can he be alive? It's true they never found his body, but that blast… and you told me –"

Nathaniel's skin was unbroken, but the bump on his head was starting to swell to an incredible size. The kid could really do with some ice, but he wasn't about to kick the bucket. I straightened up and turned to Kitty.

"Likely or not," I replied, "He certainly seems alive to me. Well, unless this is some of Farrar's crazy hocus-pocus: I suppose he _could_ be an Illusion of some kind, or even someone else under a Glamour."

"An imposter?" Her eyes lingered pensively over the limp body of the dark-haired boy. Her tense expression softened and she shook her head. "I don't think so Bartimaeus. Call it instinct."

"I don't think so either."

"How do _you_ know?"

I wrinkled my nose. "He smells like Nathaniel."

That earned me a sharp jab in the ribs. "What? It was an objective observation!"

Kitty rolled her eyes – her default response to whatever came out of my mouth.

"Unexpected resurrections aside," she said, "We still have Zaba to deal with. Farrar was just in here and she implied that the Czech army is on the march as we speak."

"I see, and you're not too keen on having your home country invaded by another nation?"

"It's not just another nation. It's an empire run by magicians."

"Hey, that sounds familiar."

"If we don't do something now, Britain will go back to where it was before the revolt!"

I nodded. "And if I might remind you, your friend the Prime Minister stands to be assassinated as soon as the attack begins."

Kitty tensed up immediately. She whipped around and clutched my shoulders in a steel-pincer grip, making her dark hair fly out around her face.

"She _what_?" She cried.

"Ow, easy there. _I'm_ not going to assassinate her."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She growled.

"Hey Bartimaeus," I replied in a silly falsetto, "Thanks for reminding me that my friends are in danger. I'm glad _someone_ was paying attention while I was busy having a memory meltdown…"

Kitty let out a long breath and clutched her forehead. "Yes. Okay, you're right – sorry. We'd better find Piper right away before Zaba sends someone after her." She took my hand and gave a crooked smile. "At least I've got you now. We should be able to escape easily enough."

I raised an eyebrow and gestured in Nathaniel's direction. "What, are you planning on leaving him here?"

"What else can we do? He's on Farrar's side; we can't just drag him around with us."

It was hard to argue with that, and in any case, the sharp click of high-heels on the stairs outside swiftly ended the debate. I blasted the window open with a Detonation and shoved Kitty through – she gave a yelp of angry surprise to find herself freefalling from a second story window, but I had no time for niceties. Behind me, the door swung open and I gave a stunned Farrar a cheeky wave good-bye before hurdling myself out the jagged hole in the wall.

Landing wasn't fun, but I managed to pick myself up off the ground and race down the street – the sooner we got away from that madwoman's house the better. Kitty chased after me with a withering glare on her face that suggested she hadn't enjoyed landing on her head any more than I had. Oh well, she'd forgive me eventually.

"So which way to Piper's place?" I called over my shoulder.

oooooooooooooo

The Prime Minister of Britain resided in a modest row-house near the center of London, a building of warm red brick with a large glass-paneled front door. Commoners no doubt found the place to have an aura of sincerity and hospitality – hallmarks of the new government, itself – but we spirits recognized the hidden message of the tidy wrought iron fence that enclosed the front garden. The new regime was sympathetic, yes, but it was also wary.

In a stream of vapour, Kitty and I slunk carefully between the bars of freezing iron and materialized on the other side.

"So," I whispered to her, "What are you going to say? Hi Rebecca, I'm back from the dead, by the way Vavrin Zaba wants to kill you?"

Kitty frowned. "No I…" We froze as a soft rustling sound floated on the night air. Kitty grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shadow of an overgrown topiary as a black silhouette appeared against the stars above the fence and dropped down into the garden below.

"We're just in time," Kitty murmured grimly as five more shadows joined the first, "They're here."

The assassins crept towards the house in single file, feet soundless upon the grass. Kitty and I followed, falling into line behind the last black-clad man. As the leader set his foot on the trellis to climb up the window, I cleared my throat.

Six heads turned in unison.

"Hi," I said.

Chaos erupted. Whirls of silver blazed through the air as the assassins drew their weapons and leapt towards us.

Kitty rammed her fist into the first, sending him stumbling back into the man behind him. Together they crashed into the ground in a tangle of legs.

I hopped up the steps to the door stoop and started flinging Detonations around in all directions. One green blast exploded into the dirt by an assassin's feet and carried him into the air, landing him up a tree, where he was promptly attacked by a family of nesting starlings.

Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air and I lost my balance, tumbling from the front stoop and landing in a very pointy rosebush.

"Piper!" Kitty cried.

"I'll hold them off," I said, stumbling to my feet, "You go help her."

Kitty nodded and was off like a shot, leaving the poor remaining assassins at my tender mercy.

oooooooooooooo

"… John, there's no time left. Can you hear me? John, wake up!"

Nathaniel groaned as Jane's hovering face swam into view. His head throbbed painfully and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. Biting back a wave of nausea, he heaved himself up into a sitting position and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Ughh, what happened?" He felt awful.

Jane gave him a pinched look.

"Perhaps I should ask you, John. Why exactly did I come in here to find you unconscious on the floor, and the girl escaping with a summoned spirit?"

She pointed accusingly to a scorched, gaping hole in the plaster where the window had once been.

Nathaniel's face burned with humiliation as the events of the last hour came rushing back. What an idiot he had been – handing an enemy all those summoning materials on a silver platter. Jane had explained to him a hundred times that Kitty Jones and her resistance hated all magicians – they'd overturned the government and tried to exile Jane hadn't they? But all the girl had had to do was ask and like an idiot he had thrown all that out the window and _trusted_ her. Well, it wasn't a mistake he'd be making twice.

"I apologize," he said, "I don't know what came over me."

Jane grimaced. He could tell she was furious. "I hope you're happy, John. You let them pull the wool over your eyes and now the Resistance's beloved icon and her demon accomplice are on the loose. They both know far too much of our plans! I sent Sirrush, but he couldn't trace them, and we have no more time. The broadcast starts in an hour and we have to leave right now."

Nathaniel paled. "Right now?"

Farrar's eyes glimmered dangerously. "Zaba is marching as we speak. Get cleaned up, we're leaving for the studio in five minutes."

oooooooooooooo

Rebecca Piper pushed her reading glasses further up her nose and leaned further over the folder in her hand. Her eyes were beginning to blur from the strain of six straight hours of pouring over the tiny black print of the official documents that littered her desk, but she didn't have time for a break. Internal pressure from her ministers, imposing threats from the Czech Empire, and the unfortunate death of Kitty Jones, one of the cornerstones of the public's support for the government, had taken their toll and Piper had never been so overworked.

The door creaked softly and Piper glanced up irritably from her papers.

"Hester, I told you not to bother me while I work," she called.

"Hester isn't here right now," a low voice replied. An enormous masked stranger blocked the light from the doorway. He shot her an indulgent smile and slid a long slender dagger from his sleeve.

With a shriek of surprise, Piper leaped from her chair and backed up against the wall. The masked man strode forwards, his sharp, carnivorous grin the only visible part of his face.

How did he get in here? There should have been a Foliot guarding the study door. Swallowing back the bile in her throat, Piper snapped her trembling fingers. A gangly imp materialized in a puff of white smoke, and at her stuttered command, flung itself towards the intruder.

With careless ease, the man swung his meaty arm like a batter and sent the imp crashing through the opposite wall. Piper ducked with her arms over her head as chunks of brick and splintered wood rained down. The imp flew back into the room, wobbling woozily in midair before sending a flash of green light from its multi-jointed fingertips. The blast sizzled through the air, wavering and swinging wide of the stranger, striking Piper's desk and exploding weakly, setting her papers ablaze. Damn it, such a lowly spirit couldn't hold off the man for long. Piper edged cautiously towards the door - her only hope was escape.

Behind her, the stranger slipped a small silver dart from behind his ear and with a lazy flick of the wrist, buried it deep into the spirit's broad forehead. It froze for a moment with a stunned look on its face before dissolving into a puddle of mud coloured goo.

Piper made a run for it, but the man's hand clamped down on the back of her neck and whirled her around so fast she nearly stumbled to her knees.

"A singular effort, Ms. Piper," he said, brandishing the gleaming dagger, "But my brethren and I are always amply prepared to deal with magicians. Enjoy your next few breaths; you won't have the opportunity to do so shortly."

Piper winced and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would be over quickly.

Her imminent death was interrupted by a ferocious cry as a flying object slammed into the assassin and sent him toppling to the floor. A flying object, Piper realized, that looked an awful lot like…

"Kitty?" she gasped.

"Kind of busy right now," the ghost of a woman grunted, jumping back at the man's swinging silver blade.

Kitty patted her jacket searchingly, then realized with a rush of panic that she was completely unarmed.

The assassin scrabbled through the brownish puddle that had once been the imp, and seizing upon the silver dart, flung it in her direction. As Kitty ducked, he leapt towards Piper and held the dagger flush against her neck.

"Stop right there," he ordered.

Piper's terrified eyes met hers, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through Kitty's veins. Almost without thinking, she raised a finger towards the black-clad man. Magic cracked around her as a bolt of blue fire shot from her finger. The man screamed and clawed at his face as flames engulfed the fabric of his mask, then fell to the floor, lighting the rug ablaze.

Smoke billowed through the room, and Kitty's eyes watered as she wrapped her arms around Piper and shot out the window, just as the room erupted in a fury of flame and bright blue sparks.

On the lawn outside, they found Bartimaeus seated upon a heap of lifeless bodies.

"Ah, so you got her," he said approvingly.

Kitty coughed the smoke from her lungs and nodded, dragging the shell-shocked Rebecca Piper towards him. "I did it," she wheezed proudly, "I managed some magic!"

The djinni glanced up at the roaring conflagration above them and raised a dark eyebrow.

"Yeah, I noticed. Congratulations. Although," he smirked and shook his head, "I'd recommend using something a bit milder indoors. A bit of a safety hazard, Infernos. The fire department wouldn't approve."

"I hate to interrupt," Piper interjected, wiping the soot from her forehead with the palm of her hand, "But can someone tell me what the blazing hell is going on?"

The pair looked at her, then started talking all at once.

"Well you see Rebecca, I didn't really die –"

"Well, her body died, but she was in the Other Place so her consciousness remained, and –"

"I was killed by assassins, probably the same ones that tried to kill you tonight."

"But then I was summoned here and she was dragged along for the ride…"

"By James Bostwick, who was just murdered by the way."

"Farrar's working with the Czechs."

"And I found out, so she had me killed –"

"Their invasion is already underway, and part of their plan is to have you killed."

"So I guess our top priority is getting you somewhere safe. Understand?"

Piper's eyes darted back and forth between them, uncomprehendingly.

"Um, say that again?" she said meekly.

Kitty sighed and grabbed her arm. "Just come with us," she said, "We have to get out of here."

Bartimaeus nodded in agreement. "Where to?" he asked. "Your place isn't the most subtle hiding spot."

Kitty smiled. "I know exactly where to go. Follow me."

And with that, she led the way out through the gate and down the street.

Dawn had not yet broken, but the streets were beginning to stir. Men still clad in their nightclothes ran back and forth, knocking on doors. People leaned out of windows, calling down to their friends in the street. A crowd was forming.

"What's going on?" Piper asked.

Kitty had no idea.

"Hey you!" A fat, balding shopkeeper called out from the doorway.

"Me?" Kitty asked.

"Come here, you've got to see this!" He ushered the three inside and lead them into the back room of the fish shop, where a small black and white TV blared out the evening news. A small group of people already crouched in front of it.

"What's going on?" Kitty asked, only to be greeted with a chorus of s_hhhh_'s.

"That's right!" The anchorman on the television declared, "National hero and former minister John Mandrake is alive! We bring you this live exclusive interview."

Kitty paled as the camera cut away to reveal Nathaniel, seated serenely in a comfortable armchair. The crowd around her gasped, and someone reached out for the screen.

"Thank you Ed," Nathaniel replied. "Yes, London, it is I. I suppose it must seem odd to hear from me after these three years, but rest assured, I did survive the night of the Revolt."

"How could he have lived?" The man at Kitty's elbow said. "He must be superhuman!"

"He's so dreamy," a young, red-faced girl squeaked.

The young man on the TV spoke again. "I was gravely injured by the explosion of Gladstone's staff, and if not for the aid of Jane Farrar I would not have survived." He glanced over his shoulder to where Farrar stood, half in shadow. She nodded her head gracefully and Nathaniel continued.

"After my recovery, I vowed to live my life outside the public eye, but I find I must speak to you now of something of the gravest importance."

The crowd leaned in, captivated by the young magician's charismatic voice.

"Your nation's leaders are selfish and disorganized, snatching power underhandedly when the magician's government was at its weakest. Britain is dying. Our colonies have broken away; or economy is in shambles; magic is fading; other nations refuse to pay their tribute. We must go back to the way things were. You have a brilliant opportunity before you. A great new empire is forming, and Vavrin Zaba welcomes us to join it. Become one with the Czech empire and restore the glory of Britain!"

Kitty's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the adoring faces around her. She couldn't believe it. They were eating this up! Nathaniel was practically a martyr in the eyes of Britain, and Farrar was using his influence to try to win London without firing a shot!

"Bartimaeus," she whispered frantically in the ear of the Egyptian boy beside her, "We have to stop him. Please! We can't let them continue this broadcast. I know that studio – it isn't far from here."

The djinni nodded and together they yanked the astonished Piper from the room. They had a news show to crash.


	14. Possessed

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Early update! This story is now officially the longest that I've ever written and it's still going on strong! Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing so far – Riiko Shea, Tane, Ventresca, Nari, The Broken Pentacle, Lisette, Duchessa, Bibby, and darcyM, thank you for commenting, I love hearing people's thoughts on the story. As always, this chapter was beta-ed by the incomparable Lady Noir.

By the way, I'm just wondering here, has anyone else read Heroes of the Valley (Jonathan Stroud's new book) yet? I just picked it up the other day and I'm really enjoying it so far. Nothing like some fresh Stroudian humour!

* * *

"…And we'll be right back after the commercial break, but don't go London! John Mandrake will be back with a daring account of his duel with the mighty Nouda!"

The staff of the studio relaxed as the camera switched off, and Nathaniel stood up to give his legs a well-deserved stretch. The slimy anchorman came up from behind and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"Thanks son," he gave a nasty laugh, "This is the scoop of the century! We'll make a million pounds!" Nathaniel smiled tightly and nodded. His head still throbbed like he'd been hit repeatedly with a hammer, and the squalor of the filthy little newsroom wasn't helping.

"Could I get some coffee?" He asked politely.

"Break room's over there," the man replied, "Just make sure your back in time."

Nathaniel nodded and squeezed down the hallway. This building was a real hole-in-the-wall, but this station was the only one who would believe Farrar's crazy story about resurrected politicians. Well, perhaps they hadn't really believed at first, but they were always open to any gimmick that could increase their ratings, and this time they'd lucked out with a story that was actually _true_.

The break room was up ahead. Out of habit, he nearly hit the light switch before thinking better of it and leaving the room in darkness. He left the door open, letting some air flow into the tiny box of a room as he poured the thick, sludge-like coffee into a chipped mug.

The cool evening breeze fanned his face; there must have been a window open somewhere. He sighed – at least it was quiet in here.

Tightening his fist around the porcelain arm of the mug, he raised the steaming beverage to his lips and grimaced in anticipation as the rancid smell met his nostrils. Well, all in the name of caffeine. He tipped it back.

The mug went crashing to the floor and a splash of hot coffee burned his ankle as a hand grasped the back of his shirt and yanked him into the dark recesses of the supply closet.

"Hello, Natty-boy," said an odd voice. Nathaniel shivered at its familiarity, almost hearing the unnerving grin in its tone. His thoughts got no further before the sound of something whizzing through the air met his ears, and a hard wooden plank smashed him in the back of the head.

oooooooooooooo

"You must have a real vendetta against the poor kid, how many times have you knocked him out now?"

Kitty and I had an unconscious Nat laid out on the table, and were currently surveying our handiwork.

Kitty crossed her arms defensively. "I'll stop knocking him out once he stops getting in the way."

Kitty and I had snuck in through a narrowly opened second-story window as two gelatinous pools of gunk, when – just our luck – Nathaniel himself had wandered into the room, only to be once again laid low by my feisty companion. Piper, who wasn't quite so skilled at seeping through windows, was still lingering in the alley below.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" I asked dubiously, "I wasn't all that fond of it the last time."

"Yes we do," she replied in a no-nonsense fashion. Well, Kitty was boss. I cracked my knuckles and wandered over to Nathaniel's side.

"Okay, fine. Do your thing."

Kitty nodded and began the incantation in a low chant. The words were vaguely familiar. I'd heard it all before of course, three years ago when it was Nathaniel performing them. Impressive, that Kitty remembered.

As the words swirled around me, I was gathered up gently into the air. The commands slowly drew me towards the boy as though I was being tugged forward on a fishing line. I hovered for a moment over Nathaniel's unaware form until, suddenly, the chant came to an end and I was plunged unceremoniously into the depths of the limp meat carcass below me.

Ew.

I'd nearly forgotten the sensation of possessing a body. Things were beating and flapping and squelching and burping all around me. Nat's skin felt tight and restrictive, holding in all of the wet bits that wanted nothing more than to burst free and run all over the floor. All of my limbs felt heavy and confined – especially my head, which was weighed down by Nathaniel's ridiculous hair.

"Are you alright in there?"

I opened Nathaniel's eyes to find Kitty's face hovering above mine. [1. I mean Nathaniel's. Whatever.] It was a pleasant surprise to find that I could see. On the first plane, of course, the boy's eyes were useless, but functioning physical eyes weren't necessary to view the higher planes. This meant, unfortunately, that I had to put up with Kitty's blinding aura whenever I looked at her.

"I wish you hadn't hit him so hard," I grumbled, sitting up, "It feels like his head's split open."

"Sorry," Kitty murmured.

"No more beating up Nathaniel," I ordered, "At least not when I'm in here!"

The click of shoes down the hallway broke up our conversation. Kitty darted back into the closet, and I leapt to my feet and tried to make Nathaniel look presentable.

"John?" Farrar called, "Where are you, they're about to get started!"

I cleared my throat and stepped out of the break room, nearly falling over as I tried to remember how to work this human body. [2. It would have been easier if I could have accessed Nathaniel's mind, presumably he knew which muscles did what, but he was out like a light courtesy of Kitty, and wouldn't be joining us anytime soon]

"Right here, hi Jane. How's it going?" I said.

Farrar rolled her eyes in frustration. "If you're late on the air, so help me…Well, come on." She grabbed Nathaniel by his tie and yanked him out through the hallway and into the newsroom. Nathaniel, the poor soul, did he put up with this all the time? Probably – I still remembered how whipped Kitty had him back in the day. This was just more of the same.

I found myself thrust into a chair, and hit with a bunch of obnoxiously bright lights that seared Nathaniel's damaged eyes. The make-up artist danced around, powdering noses and fiddling with Nathaniel's hair. [3. I wanted to tell her it was a hopeless cause, but really we didn't have the time.]

"And we're on!" The cameraman declared as the little red light on the camera blinked to life. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pale yellow smoke streaming through the door and creeping across the floor. Ah, I was not alone in this.

"Good evening London, we're back, live with John Mandrake. John?"

"Ahem, thank you." I said. "Like you said, I'm definitely John Mandrake…" I stuttered and trailed off as the swirling yellow fog wound itself like a coiling snake around the legs of an oblivious crewman behind the camera.

"John?" The anchorman coaxed with a forced smile. I watched in horrified fascination as the crewman fell noiselessly to the floor and disappeared into the mist. I looked around. Apparently no one else had noticed.

"Erm, yes. As I was saying, I am John Mandrake," Kitty was now creeping steadily towards the cameraman, but I was determined to pay attention to what I was saying. I leaned forwards in my seat and looked directly into the lens. "Look guys," I said, "I know two seconds ago I was telling you all about the joys of joining the Czech Empire, but honestly, I've been doing some thinking in the past couple of minutes."

Farrar straightened up and shot me a bewildered look.

"Yup. And I realized, why would we let an oppressive, expansionist magician's government take over our country? Haven't we been there already? Are you forgetting how they – I mean _we_ – stomped all over you? Lied to you? Took away your rights and privileges? Not to mention how they treated their poor innocent spirits! Not very nice, was it?"

A strangled cry of anger from Farrar made me turn in her direction. A thunderous expression had taken over the magician's features and she clambered towards me, probably with murderous intent. Luckily, Kitty was there, spooling her essence into her true form, and with a swift shove, Farrar was out in the hallway, beating her fists against a hastily erected Impediment spell. I looked around for the rest of the crew, but they were all suspiciously absent. Kitty winked at me, and I shrugged and went on talking.

"Besides, you don't want to do something just because I told you to, do you? I mean what are you guys, a bunch of lemmings? You've been letting your leaders order you around for far too long."

"Attention!" called the crackling voice of someone speaking through a megaphone, "Please exit the building with your hands up!" Farrar had apparently recruited the police. Well, that was fast – she must've expected trouble and have had them on standby. Our broadcast was running on borrowed time. I glanced over at the door to see a small army of imps blasting away unsuccessfully at the Impediment over the doorway. Kitty looked exhausted. I wondered how long she could keep the spell up.

"Anyways," I said hurriedly, "Time to wrap things up. Just remember folks –"

An odd stirring in the back of my mind made me loose my train of thought. The disturbing sensation crawled through the shared brain in Nat's skull as another consciousness flared to life within. Nathaniel was awake.

oooooooooooooo

First there it was just a dull buzz in the back of his head, a swell of blurry light and the indistinct impression of motion. Then the gauzy feeling in his brain lifted and Nathaniel was suddenly aware. A grating voice swam in his ears, and it was a moment before he realized it was his own.

He clamped his mouth shut and let his eyes dart wildly around the room. What was he doing here in the studio, sitting before the ancient video camera as the building shook as if under assault? An odd _whap, whap_ sound vibrated from above. Was that a _helicopter_?

His bewilderment solidified into cold shock as something finally registered. He could _see_. His eyes greedily drank in the sights around him, as strange and unfamiliar as they were. The camera, the armchair, his own polished shoes. Nothing looked quite the same as he remembered from before his accident – every surface flickered and danced with glowing arcs of coloured light. Behind him a girl stood with her arms outstretched towards a shimmering barrier blocking the doorway, beyond which Farrar and the local police stood, yelling and firing Detonations.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry up, Bartimaeus!" She called in a strained voice, turning her face towards him. Kitty Jones, he immediately recognized.

_Hey, Nat. Welcome to the land of the living._ Nathaniel jumped as a voice echoed in his mind. He could feel it now, a foreign presence shifting within his body, picking through his mind.

"My god, who are you?" He shouted in alarm. "Where am I? What's going on? Get _out_!" He twisted his fingers in his hair and yanked as if he could forcibly pull the stranger from his head.

_Shut up Nathaniel, you're making yourself look schizophrenic_, the voice reprimanded, gesturing to the red light on the video camera.

"Bartimaeus?" Kitty called. The invading entity perked up and glanced over. Its edgy concern imposed itself on Nathaniel's consciousness as it noticed the beads of sweat rolling down the girl's strained face.

Nat found himself involuntarily leaning forwards to flip off the switch on the camera.

"Alright let's get out of here," he heard his voice say. "I've got Natty-boy here, and you take Piper."

Kitty nodded. "I'm dropping the barrier in three…"

"Wait," Nathaniel cried, "Where are you taking me?"

"Two…"

"C'mon Nat, lets go!"

"One!"

The shimmering force-field blinked out of existence and a barrage of Detonations flooded the room. Nathaniel fought as the creature within him dove to the side and smashed through the window in a hail of shattered glass.

_I'm going to die_, he thought as the ground whizzed towards him.

_No you're not. Buck up, you pansy_, the voice interjected. True to its word, the intruder slowed their descent and suddenly they were flying.

"John, you come back here this instant!" Jane Farrar yelled as she leaned out the window. If only he could…

Kitty Jones was soon beside them, a rail-thin woman in a stark grey suit dangling from her arms. Nathaniel blinked and rubbed his eyes. What was the Prime Minister doing with these crazies?

_There's no time for speculation_, the voice said. _Consider yourself kidnapped_.

It didn't matter. These rag-tag rebels couldn't hold him for long. In the city below he could already see the Czech invasion already underway. Straight lines of grey-clad soldiers marched behind the wall of tanks that crawled through the streets. He could even make out a few hazy clouds of fog, behind which golems must surely be lurking.

"Alright," Kitty said, "This way to the safe house. Hurry."

Nathaniel sniffed. It wouldn't be safe for long.


	15. A Brief Reprieve

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Hey guys! Another early update, because I'm stuck without internet until Monday, and I don't know when my next chance will be. Thanks Lady Noir for beta-ing this chapter. Lisette, The Broken Pentacle, Nari, Bibby, darcyM, Riiko, Duchessa, Ventresca, Tane, Demetra, and A fan, thank you for reviewing, I really appreciate it. Onwards with the story!

* * *

Dawn was breaking as Kitty pulled them to a halt in front of their destination. The house before them was tiny but well kept, with a well-manicured front garden and cheerful blue shutters framing the windows.

"Here it is," Kitty said, "The Hyrneks' place."

Nathaniel's mouth opened, seemingly of its own volition. "Are you sure they'll welcome us?" he heard his own voice ask skeptically.

Throughout the trip, Nathaniel had passively endured the control of the mysterious interloper who'd invaded him. After accidently putting himself into a near-lethal tail spin trying to escape during the flight, and nearly spraining his ankle as the two of them argued which direction to walk in, he'd pretty much come to terms with the fact that resisting the instant presence was completely pointless and, in fact, rather dangerous to his health.

"Well, maybe not you two," Kitty replied, "But I'm sure I can make them come around eventually."

"It doesn't matter," Nathaniel interjected sullenly, "Whether you hide or not, the Czechs will have the city in the palm of their hand in a few hours. They'll find us."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kitty seethed. "You just can't wait for Zaba to take over so you can see us all strung up!"

"You've hardly given me reason to wish you well," Nathaniel replied. "First you attack me – _twice_ I might add – you threaten me with bodily harm, force this _thing_ inside my mind, make a fool of me on public television, kidnap me… Perhaps you should just finish the job now and cut my throat out."

"Yes, perhaps I should. It _would_ keep you from using your cheap tricks to manipulate the public to stand by while their homes are invaded, wouldn't it?"

Nathaniel reddened. "Cheap tricks? I'll have you know that the reason they're willing to listen is because I saved their lives! I was a respected magician – the most powerful in England, and they turn to me for advice!"

"Yes, and now you're a blind, crippled amnesiac who lets Farrar play him like a pawn!"

"That's quite enough Ms. Jones!" he started angrily towards her, fists clenched, only to find himself tripping inexplicably over his own knees.

_Whoa there buddy, calm down. No hitting girls._

"Ahem, Kitty," the voice inside his head said out loud, ignoring Nathaniel's heaving pants of fury, "Why don't you and Piper go on ahead and let me deal with Nathaniel."

Kitty clenched her teeth, staring Nathaniel down a moment, then finally nodded her acquiescence and ushered Piper towards the front door.

_Now Nat_, the voice told him, moving them behind a tall hedge out of sight of the front windows, _we need to talk_.

Nathaniel winced as he found himself plopping down cross-legged in the dewy grass.

_Ugh, you have the knees of an eighty-year-old_, the voice complained.

"Who are you?" Nathaniel demanded, struggling against the invader to unbend his legs a little.

_That's a good question_, the voice said, _but I think we really ought to start with who _you_ are._

Nathaniel frowned. "I know who I am."

A little child playing on the street gave him an odd look before shrugging and running off after her football.

_Oh, do you really? Let's hear it then._

"What?"

_Who are you?_

Nathaniel took a deep breath. Why was he even playing along with this? Farrar had warned him of the mind games these rebels liked to play. "I'm John Mandrake," he said, "Former magician and Minister of Internal Affairs."

The voice was silent a moment.

_Well, that's part of it, I suppose. But it's certainly not the whole story._

"Then what is? If you have something to say, then just get it over with."

_I could tell you, but it might be easier just to show you._

Before Nathaniel could demand to know what that meant, his vision blanked as a flash of vertigo twisted through him. A sudden barrage of images assaulted his consciousness as the invader offered up its recollections.

A thread of memory wound itself around him, and he was sinking, his other senses engulfed by the sights and quiet sounds of the hallucination. A vision of himself, young, with a messy mop of hair flashed before him. The child studied him carefully with too-serious eyes, and Nathaniel realized with a sudden certainty that he was experiencing this moment from the invader's eyes. The room was unfamiliar – the bare floorboards and sloping ceiling suggesting an attic apartment. Chalk runes adorned the floor, candles flickered from every surface. His child-self furrowed his brow, raising an imperious hand as he commanded, _tell me your name!_

The reply rumbled out from where he stood, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

_Bartimaeus!_

The name resonated through him, losing its way and spinning in circles through his head. Bartimaeus, Bartimaeus…why was that name so familiar?

The scene was gone and a new vision swallowed him.

Outside this time, the full moon hung high overhead, and the air was stale with magic. Over there, was it…? Yes. That was him, lying twisted upon the pavement. A hulking figure clad in shadow thumped towards his prone figure. A golem, he knew instantly, like the ones in Zaba's army. A dark haired girl and a pale, pudgy boy covered in enigmatic black stripes lingered in the corner of his vision.

"Mandrake wouldn't have helped _me_," the girl he now recognized as a young Kitty Jones said.

"_Exactly_," a voice – _the_ voice – spoke from somewhere behind his ear, "You're a smart girl. Off you go and leave him to die."

Kitty hesitated, her eyes darting uncertainly between Nathaniel and the lurching golem, until…

"…Oh _hell_." She got to her feet, making a mad dash for the hazy creature. Nathaniel watched as the girl leapt from the roof of a parked taxi and landed full on the golem's back, struggling for a moment, then sliding forward and grasping the scroll from its mouth before landing hard on his unconscious self. The golem slumped to the side.

Nathaniel's brow rumpled. What was this? Hadn't Kitty Jones wanted to kill him?

He was moving, standing over her now with his hands on his hips. "Mad, Quite mad," the voice tutted, but Nathaniel could hear the secret approval lurking beneath the words.

Another vision swept over him, this one so familiar that he nearly took it for the present.

He was back in his own body, the comfort of it marred by the presence of a foreign consciousness. A cacophony of howls and shrieks rose up between the tall glass walls of the building he now stood in. Instinctively, he clutched the smooth wooden staff in his hands a little tighter.

Before him, a monstrous being rose up. All spikes and slime and scales it was, and so tall that the tips of its horns nearly brushed the ceiling. A flash of understanding ran through him as he recognized this moment – the moment where he had sacrificed his life and defeated the terrible Nouda. But what was this odd presence in his mind, which seemed so much like…

_Bartimaeus_, he heard his own voice speak.

The consciousness stirred.

_Yes?_ said the voice.

_You've been a good servant…_

_Well, um, you've been just dandy too._

_I didn't say you were perfect…_

_What?_ He could sense the ire stirring through his unwelcome guest.

_Far from it. Let's face it, you've generally managed to cock things up. Which is why I'm dismissing you right now. Don't take it the wrong way… I can't rely on you for something as important as this. Best thing is to dismiss you. Then I know it'll be done properly._

_Nathaniel…_ The voice tried to interject, but the spell was already broken. The vision began to fade as the invader seeped from Nathaniel's form. The last thing he saw was his own beaten body engulfed in a furious eruption of white-hot light.

Nathaniel was quiet, sunk deep into his thoughts as the rush of memories ebbed away and he returned once again to the street in front of the Hyrneks' house. He felt odd, as if a ball of lead had settled somewhere behind his ribcage.

"So… your name is Bartimaeus," he eventually hazarded.

_That's right._

Nathaniel nodded uncertainly. "I believe Ms. Jones mentioned you to me. So then, you're a demon who used to work for me?"

_Yup. Three years straight._

"And you claim that you were with me during the last stand at the glass palace, that I used the last moments of my life to release you and prevent your death, and that Ms. Jones herself, in fact, saved my life? If that's true, then why wouldn't Jane have told me about all this herself?"

_Uh, because she's a power-hungry sow whose only motive is to play you like a piano so she can take over Britain?_

Nathaniel flushed. "Please don't talk about my sister that way."

_She's not your sister buddy. And you're not John Mandrake. You're Nathaniel. Believe me, I know the difference._

The instant voice was getting on his nerves. "If you're really my ally, then get out of my head!"

_That can be arranged. I'll get Kitty to separate us as soon as you promise not to escape._

"I…fine!" At least he'd have his privacy back, if not his freedom. Nathaniel's mind was restless as the spirit picked them up off the grass and started towards the Hyrneks' front door.

Just what was he supposed to believe?

oooooooooooooo

A blood-red rivulet seeped from beneath the knife as Caesar Morcant, retired commander of the Night Police, dug into the cool flesh of his nearly-raw steak.

He pierced a neatly cubed morsel of meat with the tines of his fork and lifted it to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. There was nothing so lovely as the smell of blood in the early morning.

Morcant chewed carefully, his jagged incisors pricking uncomfortably at his tongue. The price one paid for the gift.

He swallowed quickly as a rapid knock sounded against the door. "What is it?" he growled.

The door was flung open, and the sound of stilettos slapping against the tiles announced the entry of a slender woman, long black hair falling down her shoulders in uncharacteristic disarray. Morcant eyed the thick golden chain of Egyptian make that adorned her bare exposed neck, and licked his lips. Good enough to eat, he thought, though he'd never say it out loud.

Not to Jane Farrar.

"Caesar," She said imperiously, eyeing the meat on his plate with an expression of disgust. "I need you."

"For what?" He scowled and hunched over his meal, smacking his lips merely to annoy her. Those words were rarely a good sign.

"I have a problem that needs taking care of," she folded her skinny arms and leaned against the table, "Mandrake's deserted me, and Piper is still alive. A faction of rebels has them hidden away somewhere, and I need the Night Police to find them."

Morcant scooped up another sliver of rich red meat.

"The government disbanded the Night Police years ago."

"Nonsense. I know they'll have no objection to serving again if you lead them. You'll receive due recompense, of course."

Morcant shrugged his mountainous shoulders. "What do I care? I'm getting a huge pension these days."

"Ah, but can the government truly satisfy your every desire? Or does the longing for human flesh still burn through your veins?"

His fork clattered on the plate.

"There are four of them. Young people with tender flesh and fresh blood. They're yours if you'll have them." Morcant stared as Jane leaned in closer. "Find John Mandrake, and kill him."

oooooooooooooo

As Kitty had predicted, the Hyrnek family was slow to accept Nathaniel and I.

We sat together in the shabby front sitting room, surrounded by horrid floral wallpaper, as Mrs. Hyrnek grudgingly poured out cups of strong herbal tea. A mangy grey cat that looked like it had been fed on nothing more then vinegar and celery strings slunk across the floor to rub its flea-bitten hide against my leg.

Old Mr. Hyrnek, of the leathery face and graying temples, wrapped an arm protectively around his short, squat little wife and glared at us from across the coffee table.

"You didn't say anything about bringing spirits and magician's into our house, Kathleen," he said disapprovingly.

Kitty shifted anxiously in her chair. "I assure you Mr. Hyrnek, Bartimaeus means you no harm. And Mr. Mandrake here is well contained."

Nathaniel, now happily separated from myself, grimaced as he sat on the worn grey sofa with a vigilant Piper at his elbow.

"Tie a stone about its leg and toss it in the Thames," said a quivery voice from behind my shoulder. I turned my head, only to encounter a pair of crazed cloudy eyes set in a dreadfully wrinkled face, soft and brown like an old apple.

Grandmamma Hyrnek's bushy grey eyebrows twitched as she glared straight into my eyes. "That's how we Czechs dealt with demons in the old days." [1. This was true. Back in the day, we spirits had to be quick on our toes, lest the slightly hostile commoners send us for a dip in the Vltava. The blow to your pride was almost worse then the sting of water. This historical reminder, however, did not make me any fonder of the ancient woman.]

"Come over here, mamma," said Mrs. Hyrnek, beckoning her away. As old grandmamma reluctantly pried her eyes off me and moved across the room, she managed to tread on the skinny housecat's crooked tail. The squalid thing hissed menacingly and bit into Ptolemy's ankle. [2. To this day I swear I caught the old woman smirk wickedly as she tottered away on her stumpy little legs.]

"Mr. Hyrnek," Kitty said, "Look, I'm very sorry to be putting your family in danger, but we have nowhere else to go. Farrar wants the Prime Minister dead, the army is marching through the streets, and Zaba is poised to snatch the country right up. Believe me when I say, the four of us are Britain's only hope to keep the magicians from gaining control."

I was far too busy shaking off the wretched animal that had decided it wanted to pursue a career as my sock to follow the conversation.

"What of this murderous demon?"

Finally I bent down and wrenched the thing off, noticing it had taken a sizable chuck from my leg along with it. Probably the best feed it had had in a while. I held it up by the scruff of its neck and glared.

"Bartimaeus is on our side. He wouldn't harm a flee. Isn't that right Bartimaeus?"

I quickly set the cat down and patted it on the head.

"Uh, that's right."

The Hyrneks looked far from convinced.

"We'll shelter you here Kathleen," Mr. Hyrnek, "Of course we will, you're like a daughter to us."

"Thank you sir."

The man leaned forward, mustache bristling. "Now don't you give us reason to regret it!"

oooooooooooooo

Later that night, long after Piper and Nathaniel had drifted off in their beds of old linens, I sat listening to the scritch-scratch of mice in the rafters, impossibly bored. Nothing's quite as dull as sitting around in the dark while the humans around you snore and toss in their sleep, and I wasn't used to the lack of stimulation. In the past, my trips to Earth had generally been of the fast-paced, adrenaline-pumping, fight-for-your-life variety, until – mission accomplished – I was finally sent home. All this waiting didn't crop up until I'd started _befriending_ humans. Go figure.

It was cold and dry up in the attic. I could hear Piper's teeth chattering from across the room. Kitty, no surprise, had been given a warm, cozy guest room, while we strangers were confined in a sort of quarantine at the top of the house.

I let a lazy little Illumination sphere flick up to float along the ridge of the ceiling. The blue ball glowed softly as it bobbed through the air, only to be chased away by a similar orange globe.

I spun around to where Kitty leaned against the wall, looking rather smug.

I raised an eyebrow in challenge and held out an upturned palm, from which sprang a column of white flame.

She furrowed her brow in concentration, and soon an answering jet of fire shot up from her cupped hands, dwarfing my own simple conjuration and licking at the roof.

So that's how it was going to be, huh?

I let the flames sink back into my palm, and with a flick of the wrist, sent a roaring cyclone ripping across the floor. It spun in a dizzying spiral across the room, rattling the house to its foundations and whipping Kitty's dark hair about her face. What can I say? I'm competitive.

Kitty threw up her hands. "Fine, I give up!" she whispered. "Just don't wake the others!"

It was a testament to their exhaustion that the humans in our company went right on sleeping through the thunderous gale. Piper let out a nasally snore and rolled over onto her stomach. Nathaniel didn't even twitch.

Kitty picked her way across the floor and perched herself on the floor by my side. She smelled of black pepper and caraway seed - a clear sign she'd been poking around in the Hyrneks' kitchen.

"So, couldn't sleep?" I joked.

"I tried reading a bit, but all they have here is gigantic thousand-page tomes on magic. I got bored."

"Just as well. That kind of thing rots your brain."

"And then…" she bit her lip, "I watched some TV…"

"Also rots your brain, if I recall."

"Ahem. The _news_, to be more specific. Bartimaeus," She turned to me, her dark eyes filled with concern, "It's looking pretty bad out there."

"What happened?"

Kitty settled back and stared at her toes. "Well, the tanks rolled in, and everyone just surrendered. The British army wasn't even called upon to fight. They say Mr. Button tried to rally a resistance, but the Czechs beat them back and he's been missing ever since. We are now officially under occupation by the Czech Empire."

That wasn't good, but it certainly wasn't unexpected either. I slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"Look Kitty," I said, "This isn't the end. Things might look rather bleak at the moment, but we're far from powerless. We have a politician, a magician, a djinni, and a…whatever you are. Between us, we'll manage it somehow. It's hardly the greatest hurdle we've overcome, is it?"

Kitty looked at me skeptically. "You, me, Piper, and Nathaniel – who doesn't want to help us, I might add? Against an entire army?"

"Sure, why not?"

Kitty was still for a moment, before a slow, creeping smile broke out over her face.

"All right, I'm in. Sounds like fun."


	16. High Tension

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Hey guys! New chapter's up. Sorry about the wait, I've been moving and starting a new job, but things are getting more settled now. A lot has happened in the last two weeks, especially on the fanart front. Nari, Tane, and Anna, thank you so much for your wonderful art! If you guys want to check their stuff out, follow the links under my profile. Also, I posted another story last week, which you can check out if you're interested. Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter: Tane, Lifelock Pentacle, Duchessa, Nari, The Broken Penticle, Anna, Bibby, Riiko Shea, Lisette, The Elven-Spear, and A fan/Bobertalin – I love hearing from you guys. Special thanks to my beta, Lady Noir.

* * *

When I came downstairs in the morning, everyone was already gathered in the kitchen. After Kitty had left the previous night, I'd gone up to the roof and watched the mist creep through the starlit streets. A few gunshots had sounded near dawn, but otherwise, London was entirely silent. Kitty's worst fears had been realized – the city had been taken without any resistance whatsoever.

It was an odd conundrum. In the days of the Magician's Parliament civil unrest had run rampant through the streets, but now when the people had finally overturned the government they so despised, they suddenly longed for the old ways. Humans are fickle like that – you'd never find a spirit longing for its master after it somehow managed to escape.

These thoughts were relegated to the back of my considerable mind as I entered the Hyrneks' kitchen and found my companions feasting on enormous heaps of strawberry pancakes. Well, feasting would be a bit of an exaggeration. Piper, certainly, was digging into the mountainous pile with the all relish of a starving woman, but conversely, Nathaniel was picking at his food as if he was too dainty to eat such a thing, and Kitty pushed her meal around on her plate, unable to eat, but unwilling to inform her hosts that she was no longer human and thus would not be requiring breakfast, thank you very much.

"Morning," I called cheerfully.

Grandmamma, who had been stirring up another load of pancake batter, brandished her spatula menacingly and shrieked out a string of angry Czech curses.

It's not like I was intimidated or anything, but I thought it might be diplomatic to retreat to the sitting room for now.

The Hyrnek's sitting room was even uglier in the light of day, with its garish rose-print wallpaper, and shabby floral furniture. Bundles of old dried flowers hung suspended from bits of twine and let off a cloying odour. The whole effect was rather like a botanist's house of horrors. I felt bad for the poor little drooping daisy that sat in a vase on the windowsill.

Once I was satisfied that the terrifying elder Hyrnek was not in fact chasing me, I plopped down on the nearest loveseat. [1. Of course, I took pains to avoid sitting on the gigantic pink chrysanthemums that adorned the fabric. It's never a good idea to offend flowers. You never know what they might do.] The morning paper lay on the nicked and worn coffee table before me, and after a moment's hesitation I took a glance at it. I'd never had much reason to pay attention to current events until Kitty came along, but if the bold headline declaring the wonderful news of Zaba's triumph over London was any indication, the contents of the gossipy rag were likely to be relevant to my life for the first time in… ever.

I skimmed the article briefly, skipping over the blatant propaganda, posturing, excuses, and platitudes and going straight for the actual information. Didn't take me long to read, as you can well imagine. Between the lines, it was the same old story. Magic, censorship, travel restrictions, policing, curfew, blah blah blah. I was kind of disappointed. Magicians are gallingly predictable.

I hadn't been hiding out – _waiting_, I mean – long before the door opened and Nathaniel slunk into the room. I studied him, chin in palm, as he stood awkwardly in the centre of the room with a quizzical expression on his face. He was probably trying to figure out where I was sitting - with the effortless way he navigated around obstacles, it was easy to forget that the boy was blind.

Magnanimous creature that I am, I decided to put him out of his misery.

"Over here, kid. Nope, more to your left. Shuffle over a bit. Lower. There you go."

The boy had ended up spinning around one-hundred and eighty degrees, and stood with his back to the room, nose practically brushing the faded blue curtains that framed the window. Hey, not my fault if he had a bad sense of direction.

"Bartimaeus," the boy told the wall in a profoundly serious tone of voice, "I want to talk to you."

"What about?" I asked, intrigued.

Nathaniel compressed his lips, staring deep into the folds of the curtains.

"Well, it's about what you showed me yesterday. I don't really know what to think of it all. I don't suppose memories can be forged, can they? I've been considering this whole situation a lot to be honest."

"Starting to finally see things my way, eh?"

"Well, not exactly. But I did want to talk to you about…" Nathaniel frowned and sniffed twice, his breath wafting the dust from the curtains.

"What's that smell?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you smell it? Sort of like musty, damp fabric."

"What? Oh, _that_. I'm afraid it's you, kid. When was the last time you showered?"

Nathaniel frowned comically. "It isn't me – it's all the mildew in here!"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Never mind that. What were you saying?"

"What?" Nathaniel furrowed his brow. "Oh yes. It seems obvious that you and I have more history together than I previously supposed. I'm just not certain why Jane would tell me otherwise."

"Really? And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I'm not stupid; I'm just in the dark – both literally and figuratively. I don't trust you at all, but I'm also beginning to wonder if I can't trust Jane either. Which is why…" He spun around suddenly, his unseeing eyes predicting my location with uncanny accuracy. Slightly unnerved, I wondered when he'd figured out that I'd misdirected him. Nathaniel continued. "Which is why I'm going to tell you what I know."

I blinked, caught off guard.

"What?"

Nathaniel smiled a little and sat down on the couch. "Why don't I start at the beginning?"

"That's the traditional way of doing it."

"Ahem, if you'll allow me to speak that is. You see, three years ago – as far as my memories go back – Jane and I were living in Prague. I never knew too much about our situation, but I do know that she was granted political asylum by Zaba and his advisors in exchange for an agreement to help them with their British affairs. This was right after the Revolt, when those magician witch hunts were going on and it wasn't safe for Jane and I in London."

"Witch hunts, eh? Did Farrar tell you that? Sure, there were and _are_ a fair few who'd have liked to have popped Farrar off, but it's not like the commoners were chasing magicians down with pitchforks. Piper's a magician and she's the Prime Minister!"

"Well, whatever the case, she was certainly nervous enough about going home. She started leveraging her various contacts in Britain for information to send to the Emperor in exchange for his protection. Meanwhile, Zaba was building up the military, dead set on starting a military campaign to establish the Czechs as the supreme power in Europe once more." Nathaniel shook his head. "Why he feels he needs to take over the world is anyone's guess."

"Is it really? Interesting. The old you would have sympathized."

Nathaniel's face coloured. "Don't be ridiculous. Anyways, by that time Jane had got her old job back and we'd relocated to London. I spent most of my time hidden away in the basement. It was all part of Jane's plan you see, if I could convince the British to accept Czech occupation, then the invasion could proceed months ahead of schedule, and in return, Zaba would make Jane the governor of all Britain."

"Huh. So Jane was out conferring with the great, while you were stuck at home hiding in the cellar. That's sisterly love for you."

"Well, she's not the warmest person, but Jane certainly knows how to construct a fool-proof scheme. Just look at us now." He gestured vaguely toward the window. "London's accepted Zaba in spite of your interference, the army has landed, the new policies are already in place, the opposition has been crushed, and Zaba probably landed here last night…"

"Whoa, hold it right there," I said, interrupting the boy's depressing tirade, "Zaba's landed in Britain?"

"That was the plan. He should have landed last night after the broadcast. The idea was to get London firmly in hand before branching out to the rest of Europe."

I raised an eyebrow, "So in other words, Zaba's here in the city_, right now_."

"That's right. But trust me; you haven't got much chance of getting at him. He's holed up in Westminster with a whole army at his disposal."

"Still, its better than…"

I trailed off as the door swung open and Kitty trudged inside, looking gloomier than ever.

"Hey, Bartimaeus," she said with a sigh, plunking down wearily beside me and propping her feet up on the coffee table. "Have you seen the news?"

I waved the rolled up newspaper in my hand, and the girl nodded solemnly.

"Things are even worse than I thought they would be," she said. "Zaba certainly hasn't wasted time. Soldiers are accosting people in the streets hunting down dissenters, and Mr. Hyrnek's neighbour mentioned rumours the Night Police have been reinstated."

"I don't really see why you care what happens to Britain," Nathaniel interjected, "Aren't you a spirit or something?"

Kitty's lips pressed together in suppressed fury that would have had me running for the hills. The boy, unfortunately, didn't have the sense to escape while he still had his head. "I don't remember speaking to _you_," she bit out. "Kindly avoid involving yourself in conversations where you're not wanted."

"I believe it was_ you_ who interrupted _us_." The kid obviously didn't value his life. When Kitty Jones tells you to shut up, you shut up.

Kitty crossed her arms and sat up straight, glaring at the blind magician with eyes like daggers. "Don't you forget, _buddy_," she hissed, "You are a prisoner here, and the only reason you're still alive right now is because I'm in a _good mood_. If you want to keep it that way, you'll get out of here right _now_."

A far paler Nathaniel nodded meekly and slunk from the room.

I gave a low whistle. "Wow. I think you scarred the poor kid for life."

Kitty exhaled sharply through her teeth. "He's getting more on my nerves every minute. I don't want to talk about him right now. You and I really need to discuss something."

"And what's that?"

Kitty paused. "I'm leaving."

"Sorry?"

"Not for good," she explained hastily, "But there's something I have to do right away."

"And that would be?"

"My parents." Kitty sighed, breathing out softly through her nose as she picked absently at a loose thread in the sofa. "You know how bad it is out there right now. Farrar knows I'm not dead. There's nothing stopping her from striking at them to get to me. Yeah, we're decidedly estranged, but I can't let them get killed because of me."

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing major. They live right down the street. I'm just going to run out and warn them about what's happened. Hopefully I can get them to the airport and safely out of the country before Zaba thinks to go after them. I'll only be gone a few hours."

I gave her a sidelong glance. "Fancy some company?"

A tired smile broke out over her face. "To be honest, I was hoping you'd say that."

And so, we set out early, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from the neighbours. Kitty's parents lived on the crest of the hill at the top of the street, and together we trudged up the sloping road towards the austere line of red brick row houses that loomed not far above. Kitty's hand twisted the fabric at the elbow of Ptolemy's coat, and her steps grew increasingly slow as we approached her childhood home. I didn't have to ask to know what was holding her back – the girl was not looking forward to seeing her family again.

And honestly, who could blame her? They'd practically handed her over to Mandrake on a silver platter. Up until now the girl had been perfectly happy to let them go on thinking she was dead.

Kitty's grip tightened, and she dragged us to a halt.

"What is…" The words were whipped right out of my mouth as Kitty yanked me to the side and we tumbled into a prickly evergreen bush that lined the street. My head was unceremoniously bashed into the neighboring wall in the process.

"Ughhh…" I mumbled.

"Shhh!" Kitty clapped a hand over my mouth and peered out from between the green needled branches. I followed her gaze.

A sickly red shape pulsated with light as it floated down the street towards us. Every few moments it paused briefly and hovered in place, sniffing in the shimmering air, as though searching for something.

A Vigilance Sphere.

Kitty and I stifled our breath as the Sphere floated in the street before us, only an arm's reach away. It spun on its axis, chirping to itself as it searched this way and that. It paused for a moment, staring at the foliage that concealed us, before shaking itself and sailing away, continuing its path down the road.

Kitty's hand fell from my mouth as the creature passed out of sight, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Come on," I whispered, hopping to my feet, "Let's hurry."

Instead of compliantly hurrying after me and conveniently avoiding further danger, Kitty held back, staring after the departed Sphere with an unreadable expression.

"Kitty?"

"They're back," she whispered, "It's all back. One night, and everything – all we've accomplished in the past three years – is nothing more than a memory."

"It's not as bad as all that…"

Kitty's eyes flashed angrily. She whirled past me and stomped up the road with singular purpose. "No one did anything to stop it, Bartimaeus! And why? Just because that little lying bastard told them not to!"

I ran after her, struggling to keep up. "Who, Nathaniel?"

"Exactly!"

I frowned and stared at Kitty. Even the back of her head looked incensed.

"Kitty, don't take this the wrong way, but don't you think you're being kind of hard on the kid?"

"Hard on him? He's in league with my _murderer_!"

I shook my head. "I doubt he knew anything about that. He doesn't know anything except what Farrar's told him – he's bound to be a little screwed up. Don't you think you ought to - I don't know - cut him some slack?"

Kitty bit her lip and slowed her pace a little. "It's just… Look, I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. Every time I see him I want to punch him in the face."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Not particularly."

"You should. I _did_ spend a few years serving dear old Freud."

"Let me guess. I'm a psychotic anarchist with anger issues, and I want to beat Nat's face in because I didn't get enough hugs as a child."

We'd finally reached Kitty's parent's house and I reached for the doorknob, not meeting her eyes as I spoke.

"Not exactly. Yes, you're angry. But you're angry because you haven't forgiven him for getting himself killed. You're angry at him for making you grieve."

Kitty's eyebrows shot up. "Don't be redicul– hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," I growled, letting the crumpled doorknob in my hand clatter to the ground.

I know it shouldn't have bothered me, but the idea of her spending the last three years pining after dear old Natty-boy to the point where she couldn't even accept that he had returned really rankled. Ignoring Kitty's incredulous stare, I pushed open the now-knobless door and stomped inside.

"What are you –"

Kitty was abruptly cut off by the sound of a quaint paisley teapot shattering into a thousand pieces.

"_Kitty_?" A thin woman, dark hair shot with grey, stood at the end of the hall, tea-tray hanging forgotten from her limp fingers.

I looked over at Kitty, frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

"…mother," she said finally.

"I… it can't be! You're alive?" The woman hurried past me to grasp the sides of Kitty's face between her hands. "George!" she shrieked, "George, come here right now!"

Seconds later, George wandered out with glasses perched on top of his head and morning newspaper tucked under his arm. "What is it this time Iris?" He called out wearily.

"Hello, Dad," Kitty said with an awkward wave.

Kitty's father blinked uncertainly. "Kathleen, is that you?"

I hung back discretely as the elderly couple hovered around their daughter like satellites, crying out weepy, melodramatic things and patting her face and hair.

Kitty bore it all admirably.

"Mother," she said, prying the woman off her and holding her at arms length, "I don't have much time for explanations. The long and short of it is, I knew more than I should have, and Jane Farrar hired assassins to kill me."

Mrs. Jones stilled. "Ms. Farrar? I can't even imagine! Such a pretty lady – so learned, and lofty, and lady-like."

"And loathsome, and lethal," I said, adding to the alliteration.

"How did you escape?" Mr. Jones asked, "We were there at the funeral – everyone thought you were dead!"

Kitty shifted uncomfortably. "I was…There was no way to escape and I was injured. I had a pentacle on hand, and well… you wouldn't understand the specifics, but I called on Bartimaeus over there and escaped to the other place. My body's been destroyed, but I'm still here."

Kitty's mother paled, her eyes darting over to me and returning to her daughter as quick as lightning. "So that's…"

"A demon," Kitty finished harshly.

Kitty's mother swallowed hard. "Are you telling me you're one of them now, Kathleen?"

The girl scowled. "I'm not one of anything. I'm me, the same as I've always been. Listen mother, I didn't come here to defend myself. I came because you need my help. I'm sure you know by now that Emperor Zaba has taken over Britain and has returned it to the magician's rule."

Mrs. Jones recovered her smile. "I know, isn't it wonderful?"

Kitty tensed. "_Wonderful_? I fail to see what's wonderful about all our hard-won freedoms being taken away."

"But you know, the magicians, they were so organized, so refined. And this Zaba fellow seems quite nice. I saw him on the telly last night."

"Well, this _quite nice_ man is employing the woman who murdered me, and the pair of them would like nothing more than to finish the job. Mother, Father, you need to get out of London before they find you. Go upstairs and pack your bags, we can be at the airport in an hour or two. Bartimaeus and I can find a way to get you on a flight."

"Why would we leave?" Mr. Jones said, "Your mother and I are law-abiding citizens, no matter what _you've_ been getting up to. Honestly Kathleen, your dissenting antics have gone far enough already, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Haven't you caused enough trouble for us?" Mrs. Jones demanded, her eyes shimmering. "Ever since you were a child. Why can't you leave well enough alone?"

"I _haven't_ –"

"First it was that incident in the park, then it was that terrorist group. Now there's this new business with Ms. Farrar and the Emperor. Didn't it ever occur to you that you were putting your family in danger?"

"That's why I'm here!"

"It seems to me," Ms. Jones sniffed, "That this country could do with another Magician's Parliament."

"You know what?" Kitty spit out, "Forget it. I don't know why I bothered. Come on, Bartimaeus."

With that, she latched onto my arm and dragged me from the house, slamming the door behind her. She marched a good distance down the road before halting in the middle of the street, cradling her head in her hands, and letting out a furious scream.

"Kitty?" I said tentatively, moving closer with all the caution of a man approaching a rabid tiger.

"I should have known better," she hissed.

"Probably."

"They've never seen things my way."

"I'll bet."

"If they want to die there's nothing I can do to stop them."

"True enough."

I took her hand, carefully weaving my fingers through hers. At last, a sigh broke from her lips and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"All right," she said, "Let's go home."

oooooooooooooo

Morcant sniffed the air, the rich scents of the afternoon dancing across his delicate sense of smell. One scent in particular called out to him, beating across his brain and trumpeting the location of his target.

He eyed the quaint little house before him with its blue shutters and garden full of twisted herbs. They were inside, all four of them and more besides – he could smell them, feel them, nearly hear them.

Much time had past since he had last killed. Three years was far too long; his instincts weighed on his mind, cried for satisfaction. He felt a primal draw towards the house, with its sweet little shutters, as though the blood of its inhabitants beckoned him.

He shook his head. Not yet. With two spirits and two magicians present, it would be unwise to attack alone. He would first gather the rest of the Night Police, and tonight, they would feast on flesh.


	17. Midnight

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: I apologize profusely for the lateness of this chapter. I have no idea why it took me three weeks to finish. It would have taken even longer, but I decided to cut it shorter than I'd planned. Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed: Nari, Riiko, Duchessa, Tane, Anna, Kelcia, Lisette, Bibby, Falling Skies, Bobertalin, and beautyfrompain – you guys rock! Special thanks to Lady Noir for her excellent beta skills. Hope you enjoy!

Kitty was back, and Nathaniel didn't need his sight to sense it. The girl's presence was traceable merely by the hot aura of malcontent that rolled off her in waves. If she had been walking through a forest, no doubt flocks of distressed birds would have burst forth from the bushes and fled into the air, spooked by the impending sense of danger that only Kitty Jones could induce.

"You going to be okay?" Bartimaeus murmured, alerting Nathaniel to the djinni's presence beside her. The spirit was far harder to sense – a slippery, unpredictable thing that had the tendency to catch Nathaniel off guard and send him reeling.

The girl made no reply. It was a stupid question anyway – when had anything ever been alright with the perpetually angry, psychotic woman?

"Where were you guys?" Piper called from the other room.

"I don't want to talk about it," Kitty replied darkly. The floorboards groaned as she stomped purposefully across the room and slammed thedoor. For a moment, silence reigned.

"By that I'd assume it didn't go too well, then?" Nathaniel finally ventured as the sound of Kitty's footsteps died away.

The djinni gave a long-suffering sigh, and there was a soft _whump_ as he threw himself down on the couch.

"Lovely people, the Jones's," he said. "So kind, so accommodating. So utterly delusional."

Nathaniel raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"You know you've stumbled into a nuthouse when you tell someone an evil Emperor's sending in an army of hit men to wreak his terrible vengeance upon them, and they start clapping."

"Perhaps they're just optimistic."

"Optimistic that their daughter's sworn enemy is going to leave them alone and start opening libraries and making the post run more efficiently?" Bartimaeus' voice dripped skepticism.

"Well, I imagine whatever objections you may have had sounded very convincing coming from two enslaved spirits, who couldn't _possibly_ have an ulterior motive for spreading rumours about the new regime."

"Well now that you mention it," He could feel the djinni's appraising stare, "I'd bet we'd have had better luck if we'd taken you along, Mr. Big-shot Magician. Those two are so subservient to the magicians it's almost like some creepy fetish. No doubt Kitty's dear mum keeps a photograph of Lovelace hidden away in her sock drawer."

"Yes, I imagine she'd hide it beneath her pair of limited-edition knickers with Quentin Makepeace's face printed on them."

The djinni tutted. "Clearly there's no accounting for taste. And hey, would you look at that? The boy has a sense of humour!"

Nathaniel frowned. "I'm fairly certain Quentin actually did hand those things out at one performance or another, actually."

"Hmm, so you're starting to remember things? That's a plus."

Nathaniel shrugged noncommittally. "Just little snippets here and there. In any case, Bartimaeus, you can hardly blame her parents for refusing to go with Ms. Jones. The woman is entirely unstable."

The djinni snickered. "You're scared of her!"

"I am not!"

"There, there, it's okay Nat. No need to feel ashamed. We're all a little afraid of Kitty, deep down inside."

Nathaniel sniffed and straightened his sleeves. "I simply do not appreciate the constant abuse the woman heaps on me."

"Bah. A little rough-and-tumble is Kitty's way of showing affection."

"She called me a narcissistic goat!"

"Ah, sweet nothings."

"She threatened to boil my head in vinegar!"

Bartimaeus shifted uncomfortably. "Hey Nat, look – I'm only half joking here. Sure, Kitty's a wee bit upset with you right now, but trust me, I know her. She wouldn't be angry if she didn't care. Loath as I am to admit it, nothing that's happened here is really your fault. But you _did_ side with Farrar. And Kitty – I guess you could say she sees that as a betrayal. Deep down… well, I think she cares about you more then she's willing to let on."

Nathaniel blinked in slow confusion at the djinni's suddenly grim tone. "Are you implying…that's preposterous! Have you _seen_ the two of us together?"

"Well, you may be saying that now, but I remember there was a time when Kitty Jones was all you ever thought about. I would know, having shared your brain and all…" The djinni's voice had become strangely altered and he trailed off pensively. "You should try to talk to her."

"Why?"

"_Because_, dear Nat," the djinni ground out, "She _wants_ you to. And you kids deserve a shot at happiness."

Nathaniel sputtered incoherently, his synapses utterly unable to transmit the ludicrous ideas to which the djinni was alluding. The old couch springs protested as Bartimaeus stood abruptly and exited the room, leaving the boy gaping after him in hopeless bewilderment.

The djinni had it dead wrong.

oooooooooooooo

A long, eerie howl split the night sky, setting the Londoners quivering in their beds as the haunting call dredged up a festering pile of long forgotten memories. The battered moon cast its feeble light upon a narrow street in a cascade of silver and shadows. From the little house at the end, warm golden light flickered at the windows – a bastion of safety in a world of black and grey. A soft blur of motion broke the stillness as one by one, stealthy forms slipped from shadow to shadow, their mud coloured uniforms blending seamlessly with their grimy surroundings as they slid closer to the house.

Morcant lingered behind as the others slunk onward, savouring the bone chilling cold that clawed at his exposed skin. He sucked in a lungful of the biting night air and grinned, the yellow streetlight glinting harshly off his pearly front teeth.

Yes, it was a good night to kill.

oooooooooooooo

Kitty shivered instinctively at the hair-raising howl that broke the midnight stillness. It had sounded close, and suddenly she felt incredibly exposed from her position perched atop the Hyrnek's gently sloping roof.

Though the lonely wolf call had disturbed her peace of mind, and despite the uncomfortably thick sheet of ice that coated the shingles beneath her and bit at her bare feet, Kitty remained where she was – curled up next to the chimney beneath a dome of stars. The scent of food and murmur of conversation punctuated by Bartimaeus's jovial laughter seeped up through the ceiling of the warm home below, and she rested her head upon her palm and allowed the knowledge of her friends' proximity to cocoon her in warm familiarity.

She let her eyes wander across the black-as-death ribbon of street below, and up over the peaks and gables of rooftops silhouetted against the deep purple sky. When she'd first stormed up here an hour ago she'd been absolutely seething, but the freezing night air was rapidly cooling her head and suddenly all Kitty could feel was a deep, shuddering resignation.

"I thought I might find you up here," a voice spoke out conversationally. Kitty didn't bother glancing over; she knew exactly who it was that stood behind her.

"Mind if I encroach on your hermit-like seclusion?" Bartimaeus continued lightly. She smiled a little and gestured for him to sit.

The djinni made a show of getting comfortable, piling the snow up behind him and carefully arranging his legs in their familiar cross-legged pose.

"Now," he said, "As much as I admire the trials and tribulations of the monastic way of life, you never struck me as the self-mortifying type. Mind telling me what you're doing up here alone on the coldest night of the year? The Hyrneks' might not be the pickiest decorators, but I don't think an ice sculpture is what they had in mind for a roof-ornament."

Kitty considered, tilting her face up to the sky, where the stars of Orion glittered silently in their ancient pattern.

"I came up here to think," she said, "But I'll I've really managed to do is sulk."

"Happens to the best of us."

"My mind keeps going around in circles. It's all my parents, you know."

"I figured as much."

"It's just… they're so hard-headed. Hard-headed, blind, obstinate, _stupid_ slaves to glamour and power! And really, Bartimaeus, if that's what they want – If my parents want to be oppressed – then who am I to stop them? It's pointless to even try."

The djinni watched her carefully, not speaking a word.

"Pointless!" Kitty repeated. "And it's not just them, either. It's this entire idiotic nation. A country where all a man has to do is appear on television and flash a few winning smiles to have the entire government handed to him on a silver platter. Zaba invaded and no one resisted. No one! Why should we be striving to help people that so obviously don't want our aid? And I… right now I'm finished being frustrated. I can't even bring myself to care about them or Britain or any of this. How can I? They brought it on themselves."

Bartimaeus glanced sidelong at her, the light off the snow glimmering in his dark eyes.

"... And thus another idealist has her paradigm inevitably crushed by brutal reality," he said slowly, "That's a shame, though one can hardly blame you for it in a world like this one. Well, Kitty – you're right. You and I don't owe this plane anything anymore, and I get the distinct picture that plenty of people would we pleased if we'd butt out of this scenario entirely. We don't have to be here – it's only because of you that we decided to take on Zaba in the first place. Earth isn't my world, and it's not yours anymore either. All you have to do is say so, and we can give up here and go on living happily enough in the Other Place. Humanity can rot if it chooses to."

Kitty chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, contemplating the choice before her. As she opened her mouth, Bartimaeus quickly interjected.

"–But I'll just point out that not everyone in Britain feels the same way as your parents. I know Ms. Piper, for one, would be disappointed if we abandoned this hopeless mess."

Kitty frowned. "Piper's a democratic leader. If her people want to depose her and prostrate themselves before Zaba, she has no right to complain."

The djinni's dark eyebrows raised a fraction, and Kitty fidgeted uncomfortably. "Why don't you leave the bitterness and cynicism for jaded old louts like me," he said, "There are few enough people like you around as it is."

Kitty's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head inquiringly towards the djinni's face. "What do you mean, like me?"

The djinni fidgeted, his eyes darting restlessly over their silver coated surroundings, but never meeting Kitty's stare. "W-ell…you know. Hopeful people. The kind that think that they can change things, right wrongs, teach the world to sing – all that. It takes a few thousand years of surviving in this, frankly, disappointing world to appreciate how uncommon that is. And you have the brains to make it happen, too, which is even more unique. I can't tell you how many times I've seen a wide-eyed ingénue try to take on the planet like a baby mouse trying to befriend a pit viper. Now that I think of it, natural selection might account for a lot of the rarity."

Kitty found herself speechless. "I… thanks."

The djinni looked over at her, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, and Kitty found herself pulling closer, like a moth caught in the light of a lamp.

A fleeting suggestion of movement in the shadows below broke the spell and called her attention back to reality. A tiny light had been born in the street.

Kitty shifted nervously away from the warm presence at her side and looked on as it gleamed briefly like a flash of silver – a moonbeam caught on the edge of a mirror. A second light joined the first and the two staccato flashes shone in tandem like a lunar Morse Code before dying away as though they had never existed. A signal.

"Did you see that?" Kitty whispered, gripped with sudden apprehension.

Bartimaeus was already on his feet.

"It might not mean anything," he said, offering a hand to help her up, "But then again…"

Kitty didn't need false platitudes. The truth of the situation was abundantly clear.

"They've finally found us."

oooooooooooooo

"…And what could I say?" cried Nathaniel, gesturing wildly with the foamy sponge in his hand, "He's crazy!"

Rebecca Piper easily ducked the spray of dishwater and shrugged impassively. Mr. Mandrake had been on this tirade for a straight half-hour now, and by this point it was abundantly clear that there was no point in her adding her opinion on the matter. She rather regretted volunteering to help him with the washing up.

"It's easy enough for _him_ to say, he isn't the one Kitty's threatening here!"

Piper held back a secretive smile as Mandrake forlornly ran a hand through his unkempt hair, unconsciously leaving a trail of grimy yellow suds in its wake.

"The girl can barely stand to utter a civil word to me, and yet off Bartimaeus goes, implying…"

Piper pursed her lips together in concentration as she arranged a selection of ceramic jars upon the windowsill in order of descending size. Ah, there. Very symmetrical. The Hyrneks' kitchen had never looked so orderly.

The young magician looked over at her inquiringly. Oh, so _now_ he wanted her input? Piper rolled her eyes.

"I think this hardly merits all your agonizing," she replied, "He's probably just projecting."

"What?"

"Projecting. You know. Attributing your own insecurities and desires to someone else. Don't you know anything about psychology?"

Mandrake's eyebrows scrunched together in a comical display of confusion.

Piper had no opportunity to explain further, however, as the two objects of their discussion suddenly burst into the kitchen.

Kitty pulled up short as her eyes landed on Piper, and she took a heaving breath that betrayed having run a great distance. Bartimaeus behind her wore an expression of concern.

"Guys," Kitty gasped, "We have to get out of here right now! Come o–" The last of Kitty's statement was lost as the kitchen window behind Piper exploded into a thousand flying shards of glass.

She screamed.

Something – Mandrake, her mind registered belatedly – yanked her to the side and out of the way as a murky coloured object hurdled through the window, landing on all fours on the kitchen floor.

It snarled as it straightened itself up to its full six feet, and Piper could only stare in horror. The shaggy, sallow man in that crisp uniform could only be a member of the dreaded Night Police.

The creature sniffed the air experimentally, its eyes falling on the most vulnerable of the group and loping towards the only two humans in the room. Piper flinched reflexively as the creature bore down on her, only to be lost in the searing light of a Detonation from Kitty's palm.

"Go, go!" Kitty cried, grabbing her friends by the shoulder and shoving them towards the front hallway. The werewolf howled in agony behind them.

Piper stumbled over her own feet, her head spinning at the surreal turn the evening had taken. With one last shove towards the door, Kitty spun around to sprint back up the hall.

"Where are you going?" Piper shouted.

"The Hyrneks!"

Piper shot Mandrake a wide-eyed look. The young man was frozen, unsure whether to escape or help the departed girl rescue their host. A scraping sound emanated from the next room over, and the barking shouts of werewolves as they clambered in through the broken window filtered through the paper-thin walls of the house.

Well, that was enough to convince Piper. She darted forwards, thrusting open the door in preparation to leap to safety…

…only to be pushed back by a flood of grey-clad men who burst into the hall, filling the air with the choking scent of blood and sweat.

The nearest one reached out to grasp the fabric of her shirt, dragging her closer. Panic shot through her like a bolt of lightning, and in a wild swing she swept the brass lamp off the side table and brought it down, bashing the creature over the head again and again, until it fractured like a cracked egg and toppled to the floor.

In an instant, Kitty was at her side, blasting away at the chaos with spurts of coloured magic that cast strange shadows upon her face. Mr. and Mrs. Hyrnek lingered uncertainly behind her, their eyes hollow with shock and confusion.

"Can you make it out the door?" Kitty asked through gritted teeth as she hurled a man who'd had the audacity to pull a knife on her into the wall. She gestured to the bewildered couple behind her.

The throng of wolves had cut them off from the door, but Piper would just have to chance it. Clutching the Hyrneks' frail arms, she ran for it, dragging them after her. Jagged fingernails swiped painfully at the skin of her face, but then they were free, taking off at a run and leaving the snarling horde of teeth and hair behind them.

oooooooooooooo

Piper and the Hyrneks were out – so far so good. Kitty swiped the damp hair from her eyes and dodged a policeman in full wolf form that leapt with serrated teeth bared at her throat. She dispatched the creature with a quick Inferno, wincing at the searing smell of melted fur. Now, where was that blasted magician?

Ah there. The dark haired man lingered uncertainly in the shadow of the staircase, deep lines of concentration marring his forehead as he attempted to figure out what was going on around him. Being blind make it very hard to defend oneself, if the long crimson stripe that marred the man's neat white shirt was anything to go by. If he hadn't been cut off from the action for the most part, he'd probably have been dead.

Without the distraction of the three other humans in the room, however, the werewolves were beginning to take notice, man and wolf alike drawing closer to encircle him.

With a howl, one wolf broke from the pack and bounded towards the helpless magician, the artificial lighting gleaming off its shiny coat. Nathaniel went white, hearing the creature's approach as its four feet pounded heavily against the floorboards. Heart pounding in her ears, Kitty raced after the creature, hauling it back by the tail and cutting short its running leap towards the magician.

The wolf roared ferociously as it stumbled back, knocking Kitty to the floor. She struggled beneath the hulking monster's weight, reaching with both hands to hold its snapping jaws back at arms length. Warm spittle coated her arms as the slavering creature growled in her grasp.

"Nathaniel, help me out here!" she called frantically.

Frowning as he followed the sound of her voice, the young magician reached down to grasp the thrashing wolf by the scruff of its neck and gave a futile attempt to pry it off the girl. The creature snarled and snapped at Nathaniel's stick-thin arms.

With more room now to maneuver, Kitty struggled up a little and twisted her arms to the side. Sweat beaded on her brow and she held her breath until something gave a sharp crack, and the beast fell limply to the side.

Panting, Kitty stumbled to her feet.

"Come on," she gasped, grabbing Nathaniel's arm and ushering him through the door. The wolves leapt after them, but Kitty reached around and slammed the front door shut. That ought to hold them until they shifted back into a form that could operate a door knob.

Together, Kitty and Nathaniel raced through the shadows of the street under the mocking light of the full moon, the baying of wolves on the hunt only too close behind them.

"You…thank you…" Nathaniel choked out in the winded wheeze of someone who wasn't used to physical exertion.

"We're not out of danger yet," Kitty replied coolly.

"Hey, over he– _ack_!" Kitty pounced as something spoke from the darkness, only to find herself clutching the throat of Rebecca Piper. Mr. and Mrs. Hyrnek huddled nearby, looking no worse for wear despite their eventful evening.

"Sorry." Kitty released the poor girl from her grasp, and Piper breathed a sigh of relief.

"So you guys are okay. I… my god, John – are you alright?" The young Prime Minister blinked owlishly at the magician's bloodstained shirt. Nathaniel winced.

"It's just a scratch. A really _big_ scratch. I couldn't see the wolves coming."

"You tend to be a bit of a liability in a fight," Kitty observed.

Nathaniel shrugged. "Being possessed wasn't exactly fun, but at least I could see the other planes. I'm practically useless like this. I nearly got you killed."

Piper pursed her lips. "The planes? Is that it? Here," she deftly popped a lense out of her eye and offered it to him, the tiny plastic half circle gleaming on the tip of her finger. "Even the thickest magician's apprentice knows where to get a pair of these. They go right up to the third plane."

Nathaniel grimaced at it, probably contemplating the hygienic implications of sticking someone else's used lense on his eyeball, before shrugging and popping it into his left eye.

Piper smiled as he looked at her, blinking rapidly as the world came into focus. "Half your sight's better than none at all, right?"

Enchanting as this little moment was, Kitty had more pressing issues.

"Rebecca," she said, glancing over at the Hyrneks, "I don't see Bartimaeus. Wasn't he with you?"

Piper frowned. "I thought he was with you."

Kitty paled.

"You mean…"

She spun around, ignoring the frantic calls of her friends as she fled back up the street towards the sound of triumphant wolf calls.


	18. Resolve

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: And here we go with the next installment. Necropolis, Falling Skies, Nari, Broken Pentacle, Riiko Shea, beautyfrompain, Bibby, Melenoe, Lisette, Duchessa, Starburstia, Bobertalin, and Tane, thank you very much for your reviews; I love hearing from you! Special thanks to Lady Noir who beta-ed this chapter.

It was Piper's scream rather than the crash that first registered in my brain as the Night Policeman hurdled through the window into the Hyrnek's little kitchen. In less time than it took for the last shard of glass to fall tinkling to the ground, Kitty had the creature immobilized and was already ushering Piper and Nat towards the door. I made to follow, having a healthy sense of self-preservation which was not all that fond of werewolves, but my plans were foiled by the memory of a certain little something that had me running back up the stairs. A certain shriveled little something that was currently snoring away in her bedroom, oblivious to the werewolf assault below.

I leapt up the stairs two at a time, reaching the landing just as a loud crack split the air and the sound of mingled growls filled the hall behind me. The rest of the pack had arrived and I hadn't a moment to lose.

Shifting into the shape of a gargoyle – a form much more conducive to these types of brawls – I burst through Grandmamma Hyrnek's door and yanked the slumbering old lady from beneath her quilt.

Grandmamma's eyes snapped open – beady and black from beneath her floppy nightcap. She flailed like a worm on a hook, cursing violently in Czech as I attempted to wrestle her towards the window.

"Hold still," I commanded futilely, "I happen to be rescuing you here. The least you could do is show some– Ow! Hey, what are you doing?"

What she was 'doing' was gnawing on my arm like a ferocious hamster, as if she could whittle right through it and escape. Normally this wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience for a gargoyle with biceps made of stone, but unfortunately the shrewish woman had apparently had very poor dental hygiene throughout her long life, and was sporting a mouthful of vicious silver fillings.

"Gah!" I was forced to drop her as the gargoyle's arm began to bubble and steam under the freezing poison of the metal.

"Do you have some kind of death wish?" I cried in exasperation.

Grandmamma had no opportunity to answer, for as I spoke, the splintered remains of the door were blasted away, and the Night Police burst in.

Ten or twenty of the rabid quadrupeds bounded into the room, gouging the wooden floor beneath their claws. I ducked as one leapt towards me in a flurry of gnashing teeth and greasy black fur. Realizing it had missed its target; it careened around in the air and landed hard on its back. Another of the creatures stalked forwards, the fur on its back standing straight on end as it growled low and menacing. Beside me, Grandmamma scowled and poked it in the eye, and set it whimpering away with its tail between its legs.

Despite the old lady's great triumph, more wolves were closing in, and the room was far too small to be tossing Detonations around willy-nilly. A few more seconds and the pair of us would be no more than a gory pile of juicy ground meat on the floor. Actually, for accuracy's sake, make that a shredded bit of petrified beef jerky and a small silver puddle.

There was only one proper thing to do in a situation like this.

Run like hell.

I yanked Grandmamma up by the back of her billowy nightgown and tossed her over my shoulder. The wolves leapt up, snapping their jaws in an effort to get a morsel of delicious old-lady meat. Werewolves never did have much sense.

Without further ado, I charged through the doorway, punting the snarling Night Police aside with large stony fists. Grandmamma yowled and held on for dear life as I leapt down the stairs in a single bound, nearly knocking her head against the ceiling. I was halfway through the kitchen and already exulting over our neat escape, when a crisp shot rang out and I found myself stumbling against the wall.

For a brief second I was dazed, slumping heavily against the kitchen cupboards and trying to place the source of the curious burning pain in my gut.

_Oh._

Looking down at the sizzling, essence-seeping wound in my chest, the problem became rather clear. I'd been shot. With a silver bullet.

That sucked.

"So. You must be one of the spirits." An inordinately large, bald man leaned against the counter before me, the sleeves of his mold-coloured uniform casually rolled up to the elbows. And hey, what do you know? Hanging loosely from his hand was a smoking handgun.

"A werewolf wielding silver bullets?" I said, "Now I've seen everything."

I didn't like the way the man smiled as he lifted his arm to point the weapon at me once more.

"Let's introduce ourselves, shall we?" he said. "I'm Caesar Morcant, commander of the Night Police, and you, I assume, are Bartimaeus. I'm afraid I have orders to put you and your friends under arrest in the name of the Czech empire. Well, that's the official story anyway. Arrest, after all," Here he gave an unnerving grin, "Is such an inflexible term. It might be more accurate to say that you'll simply… disappear."

I rolled my eyes. "Well la-de-da. If you're going to shoot me again, get on with it. No sense in talking my ear off first."

The large man raised an eyebrow. "Patience, my friend. I'll get around to it, I assure you. First I'd like to know where your little friends have run off to. Perhaps a little cooperation on your part will encourage me to be more…lenient"

"Uh, as convincing as that sounds, I'm going to have to say no."

"Well then."

The man's finger clamped down on the trigger, but I was faster. In an instant, the hulking gargoyle had become a tiny flea that buzzed erratically about the room. Morcant fired off another shot, but he really had no chance against such a difficult target. A twitch of my mandibles, and the werewolf was engulfed in the explosive green light of a Detonation.

I alighted on the ground, my wounded essence protesting as I became Ptolemy once more. Grandmamma Hyrnek was unfortunately nowhere in sight. My, she was spry for a centenarian.

I made for the hallway, from which odd yelping sounds that may or may not have pinpointed Grandmamma's location issued. I hadn't gone more than three steps towards the door when something yanked me backwards, and suddenly I was staring in to the very much still alive face of Caesar Morcant.

He _was_ a bit singed, I'll grant myself that much. The melted fabric of his clothing clung to him in tatters and there was a crazed look in his eye that wasn't exactly there before.

"Where do you think you're going?" He hissed, his hand constricting around my neck and lifting me right off my feet. With a huff of effort, he hurled me head over heels back into the kitchen, sending Ptolemy's lanky body crashing into the old-fashioned iron stove with enough force to smash it in two.

I lay there stunned for a moment, insensitive to the cold bite of iron eating away at my shoulder. At last my vision righted itself, and I immediately noticed two things.

The first was the smoldering green flames that licked at the sleeve of Morcant's snazzy melted jacket as he moved purposefully towards me.

The second was the broken gas pipe that hissed menacingly behind the ruined stove.

Bad combination.

I didn't care how wounded I was. I was on my feet in a tenth of a second. In a burst of energy I didn't know I had, I leapt right over Morcant's head and ran for it.

Grandmamma was there in the hallway beyond, deftly skewering werewolves with her umbrella. I wrapped an arm around her, praying she wouldn't bite this time, and shot straight up, bursting through the roof just as the fuel leak caught and the house exploded in a fountain of molten flame.

oooooooooooooo

"Damn it all!" Jane Farrar cursed as the scrying glass before her fell blank, the imp powering it consumed in the blast.

She'd sent her servant to follow the werewolf commander, but the scrying imp was a delicate, fiddly thing and the quality of the feed had been poor. Through the jerky static images, she'd barely been able to sort out the view of Kitty and company escaping out the front door. The picture quality hadn't been improved by the sudden fiery explosion from God-knows-where that had seemingly killed her imp.

"Sirrush," she shrieked shrilly, "Get down there and find out if that miscreant and his wolves managed to kill themselves."

With a professional nod of its head, the small golden dragon alighted obediently from its perch and glided out the open window into the snowy night beyond.

"If they're not," Farrar muttered, pulling on her wool coat, "I'll kill them myself."

Flicking off the lights, she strode out of the Westminster Palace scrying hall and made for the front doors. The building was dark and deserted, cloaked in an eerie silence. No one but Farrar had bothered to enter the old parliament buildings since the invasion, and the entire complex had quickly acquired the dank, austere air of a gravesite.

Farrar was thankful when the cold night air hit her face, tiny snowflakes catching on her sleeves and bringing a little white into the impenetrable January blackness.

It was a short trip across the road to Westminster Abbey, the current seat of his Excellency, Vavrin Zaba the first. She pursed her lips as she stared up at the towering gothic spires of the ancient building. Most men would be satisfied with a palace. It figured that Zaba wished to rule from a church. Only a consecrated place of worship would be fit to house the ego of the man who styled himself the god of the new empire he was building stone by stone. Farrar blew out her cheeks and allowed herself to be waved in by the guards. She'd made her choice and had thrown in her lot with the megalomaniac for better or for worse. And what was a little blasphemy when power was at stake?

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cathedral. The only light inside came from the dozens of tiny floating Illuminations that bobbed gently in the air, shedding a cold blue light on the abbey floor. On the raised dais at the end of the aisle was set a luxurious red velvet armchair that served as a throne of sorts to the young blonde man who lounged in it, flipping boredly through pages of documents with an expression of distaste.

On a stool at the foot of the dais perched a hollow, sunken man who looked pale and sickly under the wan, blue light. His drooping eyes flicked up at the sound of her entrance, before returning to the folding desk on which an array of large glass orbs had been arranged in a semi-circle around him. Each of these flickering spheres, Jane knew, were connected to a separate golem somewhere in the city – and poor, wasted Karl Kavka was tasked with controlling them.

"Jane," the blonde man on the dais called warmly, "Just in time. I've been looking over the terms of Britain's surrender here, but I need a second opinion." He gestured to her and she mounted the steps to stand by his side.

"Here," Zaba said, passing her a sizable stack of papers, "What do you make of this?"

Farrar fiddled idly with the corner of a document and cleared her throat.

"I'm afraid, my lord, that you and I have more pressing issues to consider at the moment."

"Oh?" There was no impatience in his tone, but Jane had known the Emperor long enough to know when she was treading on dangerous ground.

"Earlier this evening, I sent one of my servants to kill Kitty Jones and the rest of her fugitive friends, but just now I've received word that she has escaped. I don't know where she's gone. Perhaps the Night Police will be able to follow her trail, but if not, we will have to mobilize the Vigilance Spheres and perhaps dedicate a portion of the army to the task of finding them."

The man pressed his lips together and eyed her accusingly. "What do we care for a handful of insurgents? I fear you are becoming altogether too obsessed with recapturing these inconsequential upstarts, Jane. Are you truly motivated by my best interests here, or is it your own pride that prevents you from letting them go?"

"I…You know I live to serve you my liege. Do not make the mistake of underestimating the threat of Kathleen Jones and her allies. You should know yourself that Mandrake can be a formidable foe – for the influence he wields over the public alone."

Zaba gestured dismissively with a delicate hand. "If you absolutely insist, we can always increase the defenses around Westminster. Karl?"

The young man in the corner twitched nervously and hunched so low over the table that his greasy locks of hair brushed the surface of the crystal globes before him.

"Yes sir," he murmured, suspending a pale, shaky hand over one of the spheres to call its golem homewards.

Zaba turned once more to Farrar and gave her an ironical smile. "There. Shall that put your mind at ease, my dear?"

Farrar said nothing.

"I know you don't like it, but try to have some perspective, Jane. There are only four of them. What could they possibly do?"

oooooooooooooo

No.

Kitty stared up the street in horror as shreds of smoldering wood and fabric rained down around her tiny flashes of red and orange. She had barely managed three steps towards the werewolf-infested building when a sudden concussion of sound had ripped through the air, knocking her from her feet. She'd pulled herself up on her hands and knees, feeling her heart sink to her toes as she surveyed the road up ahead. The Hyrnek house was utterly destroyed.

The roof had been completely blasted from the rafters, and the walls that remained jutted out at wonky angles, licked up and down by great tongues of flame. The blackened beams of the house groaned and collapsed inward, sending up a fountain of bright sparks and the foul odor of burnt fur.

"Kitty, come back!" Piper's distant voice drifted aimlessly over her head, unable to penetrate the dense fog of panic that enshrouded her brain.

How? How had this happened? One moment the djinni had been at her side, and the next he was gone. She staggered to her feet, determined to dig through the burning rubble with her bare hands if she had to. She was the one who had forgotten him there in that fiery building, and dead or alive, she was damn well going to be the one to drag him back out of it.

A polite cough sounded behind her.

"Looking for someone?"

Kitty whirled around.

The djinni landed lightly on the icy pavement, his dark hair and eyes almost a part of the shadows. Grandmamma Hyrnek dangled in his grasp, her loose white nightgown ghostly under the moonlight.

She wrapped her arms around the djinni's neck and sagged into him in relief. "Bartimaeus," she cried in equal parts joy and fury, "If you ever do that again, I swear I'll kill you myself!"

The touch of the answering pair of arms that encircled her waist was unnaturally stiff, and she looked up in confusion in time to catch the djinni's wince.

"What? Are you…Oh god!"

The front of Bartimaeus' shirt glimmered, soaked through by a silvery liquid that seeped down the fabric and dripped to the ground in small simmering puddles. Alarmed once more, Kitty gingerly lifted the hem of his shirt and studied the wound in his abdomen. It looked far too small to be bleeding the way it was.

She glared at him accusingly.

"I… look, I got shot, okay? It's not as bad as it looks…"

Kitty scowled. "You're lucky if you've got half a teaspoon of essence left. You're going straight back to the Other Place, mister."

"Really, I'm fine!"

"Kitty, what are you… oh!" Piper had finally caught up, the rest of the group trailing close behind.

"Bartimaeus, what have you done to yourself?" Nathaniel looked like he might be sick.

"Nothing, I'm fine! I ran off to get the old bird." He gestured with his chin towards the wizened elderly lady who stood behind him in nightclothes and bare feet.

"Grandmamma!" Mrs. Hyrnek exclaimed, "You're all right!"

"No thanks to you, hussy" the old lady grumbled, put out at having been forgotten.

"At any rate," Kitty said, "It seems we all made it out safely, though Bartimaeus is a bit worse for wear. And I'm afraid your house is beyond repair."

The Hyrneks glanced back at the remains of their poor home, now little more than a heap of smoldering ash. The ironic far-off wail of a siren wafted to their ears – one of the neighbors must have finally called the fire department.

Kitty sighed. "I'm so sorry. This is entirely my fault. I begged you for help and look what your generosity earned you. I never should have brought your family into this."

Mr. Hyrnek placed a large hand on her shoulder, his mustache twitching as he smiled.

"Kathleen," he said, "It's an honour to lose our home in sheltering you and your friends. A house is just a house, after all."

Kitty clawed anxiously at her hair. "I may well have cost you your livelihood."

"Better to suffer for doing the right thing than to prosper under the magicians' thumb. Isn't that right, Katarina?"

Mrs. Hyrnek nodded firmly. "Don't you worry yourself on our behalf, dearie. We're only happy to have helped you in some small way. We Czechs know better than anyone the destruction that magic can bring."

Kitty studied the stout, red-faced couple before her, a warm feeling building in the pit of her stomach. Here were two people, humble and uneducated as they were, who bowed to no one, who had defied the authorities to help her, who had the strength and will to fight. She had almost given up hope that such people existed.

"Told you so," Bartimaeus whispered in her ear, reading her thoughts.

"I… thank you so much," Kitty choked out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Mrs. Hyrnek only smiled.

Not everyone was a willing slave to Zaba. Not everyone was her parents. Perhaps, Kitty thought, perhaps she was not as alone as she had assumed.

"Where do we go from here?" Piper wondered aloud.

Kitty drew in a sharp breath. "I didn't realize it before," she said, "Not with what happened with my family, and the occupation, and the people kowtowing to Nathaniel right and left. But not every soul on this island is a magician-worshipping sheep. There are still strong people like the Hyrneks here in London. People who want to be free, people who are willing to fight. And if we draw them to us… well, perhaps we could throw off this Czech occupation once and for all.

"There's my favourite revolutionary," Bartimaeus smirked, "If you're going to start a war, I'm definitely in."

"_You_, my fine sir, are going back to the Other Place before you drain away entirely." Kitty poked him in the shoulder and eyed the group warily. "So, then. What about the rest of you?"

"I'm all for it!" Piper chirped.

"As are we." Mr. Hyrnek wrapped an arm around his wife.

Nathaniel tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If you're going to incite an uprising, you're going to need to arm the populace. There's a good deal of magical weaponry in the vaults under the houses of parliament. We could break in fairly easily, I should think."

Kitty stared at him a moment. She hadn't expected his support.

In the darkness, Grandmamma Hyrnek's eyes gleamed like black currants set in a half-cooked oatmeal muffin.

"Then," her raspy old voice quivered with ill-contained glee, "We fight!"


	19. Gathering Storm

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Hey guys! Here's a nice quick update for a change - mainly due to my being off my feet from having my wisdom teeth extracted. Owww. Deepest thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter; Tane, Kelcia, Riiko Shea, Bibby, Nari, Beautyfrompain, Duchessa, Lisette, Darakna, Falling Skies, Random Inspired, Anna, and Melenoe – I love hearing your thoughts and comments. Special thanks to Lady Noir for her awesome beta skills. Enjoy!

* * *

Darkness still stretched out over the city of London, but the air had begun to acquire that quiet expectant stillness that always preceded the dawn. The _slap, slap_ of Nathaniel's rubber-soled shoes echoed harshly in his ears – perhaps because of the silence, or perhaps it was simply that his own senses had been sharpened by adrenaline and the long years spent blind.

He was grateful for the darkness. The dull shadows and vague outlines of buildings were overwhelming enough to his newly-acquired vision, and he wasn't sure he could handle a sudden explosion of light and mid-day colour quite yet. Even now he found himself fighting the urge to squeeze his left eye shut against the strange dancing auras that glittered around his companions, and instead let the familiar nothingness enfold him once more.

But as Kitty Jones had so aptly said, without his sight he tended to be a bit of a liability.

Automatically, he glanced up at the slender girl who strode brusquely onwards, a few feet ahead of the rest of the group as she led the way to Westminster Palace. It was a little strange to see her alone when Nathaniel was so used to the sight of the dark-haired djinni constantly glued to her side. Without him she seemed asymmetrical, somehow.

But Bartimaeus needed his rest, and Kitty had adamantly ordered him to return to his home plane, with reassurances that he'd be resummoned the moment things started getting 'interesting', as he called it.

Westminster palace, with its grey-brown façade and towering bell tower loomed ahead. It was even quieter here, buried under a thick crusty covering of fresh snow. The many windows of the building were dark and cold, as though the old Palace had fallen into a senile sleep from which it could not return.

"It almost looks like it's been abandoned," Nathaniel mused out loud.

"Of course," Piper snipped, "What would Zaba want with a symbolic seat of democracy?"

Kitty was silent, moving a little further along the bank of the Thames to peer up around the corner at the magnificent Westminster Abbey across the road.

"_That's_ where he is," she said softly. "There's practically a small army guarding it."

"They have the Abbey surrounded, but they're leaving the Parliament Buildings unguarded?" Nathaniel gave a low whistle. "Well, well. That only makes it _that_ much easier to sneak into the vaults."

Kitty's jaw tightened. "And once we get what we need, we'll know exactly where to find him."

Nathaniel's heat rate picked up. This was it – this was really it. He asked himself again why he was helping these people. The middle-aged foreign couple he'd only just met, the mousy Prime Minister whose face he barely recognized. The fiery-ghost girl who antagonized him at every turn.

At least the latter he was beginning to remember. He clearly recalled the laborious effort of tracking her down in his Parliament days – the long search for informants, the public announcements, the hours spent sketching out her face for the wanted posters he'd placed on every street corner. He remembered the golem incident, how Bartimaeus had led him to believe that she'd died in his place – even now he could picture the djinni's sly grin as he mocked him with her form. He remembered how his conscience had twisted at the sight, how his mind had returned again and again to ponder her sacrifice, how pretty he'd once found her.

She was still pretty of course, her pale, haunted face unchanged from the one in his memories, but he now found himself observing that fact with a disconnected objectivity: as if from completely outside the matter entirely. It wasn't just her either. All his growing memories seemed to him somehow remote, as though they belonged to someone else, as if he was nothing more a simple observer, watching and evaluating the sordid narrative of someone else's life. And though he reddened uncomfortably at the mounting evidence that his memories presented him with – that he had been undeniably infatuated with the girl towards the end – he knew without a doubt that that time was over, and she was not the reason he was doing this, either.

So what then?

"Come on, lets get inside before we draw attention to ourselves," Piper whispered, drawing a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocking a small service door with a soft click.

As inconspicuously as possible, they filed into the narrow unlit passage and shut the door behind them. The sudden influx of darkness weighed heavily on his pensive state of mind.

A small light sprang up from Kitty's hand, throwing uneven shadows upon the faces of his companions and casting a soft blue circle of light upon the tiled floor.

"Follow me," Piper whispered, taking the lead.

The five of them tentatively followed. Moving slowly, Nathaniel brought up the rear, half enshrouded in the darkness beyond the circumference of Kitty's magic.

He eyed the back of the girl's blue-lit head.

No, it wasn't her.

He rubbed the side of his face wearily; tired of the uncertainty, of the loss of self that had plagued him since his accident. Truth be told, looking back at the chaos of the past few days, it wasn't the memory of any of his companions that had ensnared him on this quest. No, if anything had convinced him to join their side, it had simply been the memory of himself.

It was his last memory, the final chapter in the story of the John-Mandrake-who-was, before his rebirth as a confused, directionless pawn. It stood out from his other recollections, somehow sharper and brighter than its vague and lackluster brethren.

_You've been a good servant…_

There he stood, beneath the high arches of glass and iron, facing death. He felt small, even with the legendary weapon grasped in his sweaty hands. Just a wisp of mortality, a fragile insignificant thing before the ancient and terrible monster he faced.

But he wasn't alone in this moment; he had never been alone, not since he had first sketched those spidery chalk lines at the tender age of twelve and called out the word _Bartimaeus_.

…_Which is why I'm dismissing you right now._

And he had.

That final shred of comfort, that last tenuous refuge from the overwhelming fear of dying alone, he had given it up.

This, he knew, had been the defining moment of his life. Why exactly he had done it, why concern for the well-being of his djinni servant had coloured the last moments of his life, he wasn't yet quite sure. But there had once been something there, a connection, a moment of confidence, and it was this certainty in which Nathaniel placed his faith.

At last Piper brought the group to a halt in front of a set of heavy iron doors. Kitty shrank back involuntarily from the metal's pervasive poison, and Nathaniel strode forwards to help the Prime Minister leverage them open. Beyond them, a steep set of stairs spiraled downwards into a darkness deeper than Nathaniel thought possible.

"Alright," Piper said brusquely, tucking a stray strand of hair back into the tight knot at the back of her head, "Kitty, if you'd lead the way?"

The light in the girl's hand grew stronger as she stepped down into the sloping passage and began her descent, the others treading carefully behind her. Nathaniel kept a careful eye on the planes, scanning for evidence of magical traps, but all seemed clear.

At the bottom of the stairs, the corridors branched out into a labyrinthine maze of passages, and Kitty halted to look back questioningly at Piper.

"Which way?" The dark-haired girl asked.

Piper tugged at her lip. "It's hard to say. The passages down here are imbued with unpredictable magic; it never leads the same way twice. We're going to have to form a few different groups and search for the National Armory."

Kitty frowned. "I'm not sure splitting up is a good idea. The Hyrneks are blind to the planes, and all of you are unarmed."

Grandmamma Hyrnek shook her umbrella under the girl's nose. "Not _all_ of us, missy."

"If we don't split up, it'll take days," Piper countered. "I have the clearest sense of where we're going, and I can take the Hyrneks with me to carry out the loot. You can take the next passage and signal us with magic if you find anything. Nathaniel, you take the leftmost door and meet us back here if you find the armory."

Kitty looked uncertain. "Alright, but keep an eye out for traps and call me if you need help, okay?"

There was general assent, and the group split off in three directions. Nathaniel placed his hand along the wall and groped his way down the passage, relying mainly on the echoing sound of his footsteps and the stuffy flavour of the air for guidance in the darkness.

At last a dull red glow lit up the passage ahead, and Nathaniel slowed warily, suspicious of its absence from all but the third plane.

As he neared the end of the hall, he could make out the source. A straight line of wedge-shaped red runes inscribed on the floor, pulsating with a sickly red aura. He stopped at their edge and studied them, sifting through his fragmented memories in an effort to wrest the symbols' meaning from his brain.

What was it? Ah yes, cuneiform, the script of the Sumerians and one of the most ancient forms of writing known to man. An obscure language choice even for magicians, but then it had been the language of ancient Uruk, and Nathaniel clearly remembered the mind-numbing months in his apprentice days spent pouring over shards of cuneiform tablets in preparation for summoning Bartimaeus, the agent of his supposed revenge.

At this recollection, something seemed to unlock in his brain, and the hatch-shaped marks before him began to unfurl their meaning.

Right, there it was. They were binding runes, spelling out an incantation to constrain guardian spirits into the floorboards. Nathaniel wiped his forehead, immensely relieved that he hadn't stepped on the hidden runes and activated them.

Carefully hugging the wall, Nathaniel edged forwards past the insidious symbols and slipped through the doorway beyond.

The enormous room beyond was brightly lit by flaming green torches mounted upon the walls. Above, the ceiling rose into a graceful dome so high that its intricate engravings were nearly lost in shadow. An abstract mosaic decorated the floor, spreading out to all sides of the spacious circular room. The light from the torches reflected off the clean glass paneling of the backlit display cases that lined the walls.

_National Museum of Rare Artifacts and Magical Relics,_ proclaimed a crisp white sign mounted on an aluminum post.

Not the armory then. Still, the objects in these cases could prove useful.

He shifted closer to the nearest glass window, straining his eyes to read the tiny placard set in front of the garish silver necklace inside.

_Creak… patter, patter_ – the muffled sound of something coming up the hallway made the hair of his neck stand on end. He flattened himself against the wall.

"…guess we're lost then…" snatches of whispered conversation drifted to his ears. Nathaniel instantly relaxed. Just Piper and the Hyrneks, then.

Wait.

"_Stop!_" He called out, rushing panicked to the doorway, but he was too late.

Piper glanced up at him in surprise, just as her foot came down on the flagstones and smudged the line of red cuneiform beneath her heel.

A chorus of soft, eerie whispers sprang up, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Smokey mist, red and alarming, began to rise up from the damaged symbols and gather around Piper's feet.

"Get out of there!" Nathaniel shouted, yanking her forwards by the arm. The Hyrneks hovered uncertainly on the other side of the runes, uncertain whether to risk crossing the frothing red mist.

"You three," He ordered them, "Go back the way you came. Now! We'll meet you back at the entrance."

Mr. Hyrnek stared wide-eyed at him, frozen in impotent apprehension, and undoubtedly would have died there had his faithful wife and mother not pulled him back up the passageway.

"Come on," Nathaniel whispered to Piper once the Hyrneks were out of sight, "I don't know what kind of creature you just awoke, but I doubt we want to find out."

The mist was higher now, piling almost to the ceiling, and Nathaniel knew it would soon take form. He ran back into the wide dome-shaped room, scanning the glass walls for an exit.

Nothing. They were trapped.

Well, the next best thing was a weapon. He ran to the nearest display case, pounding the glass with his fist to no avail. Behind him a moaning hiss rose up from the passageway.

_Crash! _

Nathaniel nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, only to see Piper standing at his side, heeled shoe in hand and glass shards at her feet. The little magician scrounged inside and tossed him the nearest artifact. The silver necklace he'd noticed before.

"What is this?" He asked, slipping it around his neck. Piper squinted at the placard as she reached for a large ceramic urn.

"_Herodotus' Collar of Indefinite Entrapment_, whatever that is," she answered.

The red smoke was creeping in through the doorway like a bloodied tide. Nathaniel fancied he could see the vague suggestion of spidery black limbs silhouetted against the otherworldly light before being lost in a curling tendril of mist.

"There's more than one in there," he murmured. Piper went pale and clutched the urn to her chest.

There was an unnerving shriek and the sound of claws skittering against the stones as spindly black creatures burst from the concealing mist and loped towards them. Piper gave a bloodcurdling scream and hurled the ceramic urn, sending it crashing into the leader. It burst into a thousand porcelain fragments as a burly yellow-furred creature emerged from it, tossing the shadowy creatures right and left and letting out an exultant howl at its newfound freedom. Nathaniel and Piper exchanged glances.

"What is that?" Nathaniel wondered aloud, "Some kind of Yeti?"

"I sure hope it's on our side," Piper squeaked.

Whether it was or not, it didn't matter in the end as the dark, scrawny creatures swarmed over it, releasing bursts of gaseous black magic that ate away at its flesh until it collapsed in a skeletal pile.

"Oh my god," Piper moaned.

Nathaniel fingered his necklace, wondering if he could figure out how to activate it before he and Piper ended as a fleshless heap of bones on the floor. The creatures had turned their attentions away from the Yeti and with hissing clicks of triumph; they once again set their sights upon the two magicians.

"Activate," Nathaniel murmured, trying to coax the artifact into cooperation. "Go! Turn on! _Aktiválás! Attiva! Aktivovat!_ Come _on_!"

His spew of foreign command words came to a halt as Piper grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards through the jagged hole in the display case, just as a ball of putrid black fumes came sailing through the air towards them and dissipated harmlessly against the glass.

Nathaniel grasped Piper's arm in mute shock as the spindly creature that had released the magic stalked closer on its gangly limbs, the rest of the horde creeping behind it. It stopped just a foot away and stared at Nathaniel with empty eye-sockets, nothing but the thin wall of glass between them.

"Die," it rasped.

There was a faint rustle from somewhere behind his elbow, as Piper rifled through the pockets of her blazer and pulled out a pen and pad of paper.

"Here," She thrust them out to him, "Summon Bartimaeus."

Nathaniel stared back at her.

_Wham_, the glass vibrated as the shadow creature struck it with a bundled fist.

"You do it," he said, "You're a magician, aren't you?"

Piper pursed her lips and shoved the pen into his hand. "Me? Summon a fourth-level djinni? Nope, I'm afraid you're going to have to be the one."

"But –" He hadn't performed even the smallest bit of magic since his accident. Would he even remember how?

_Wham! _Other creatures had joined the first in its assault against the pane of glass. Already cobweb cracks were fracturing the surface.

Stilling his trembling hand, Nathaniel began to draw, murmuring the incantation as he went.

A tiny pentacle of blue ink formed on the paper, and Nathaniel held it level as a white mist began to gather about the edges.

"Come on Bartimaeus, get on with it!" He called.

"You guys call this a pentacle?" A tiny, very irritated voice called out from the centre of the swirling vapours, "I'd have more room in a straight jacket."

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel said quickly, "You're free to leave you're constraints. Now as you can see…"

_Crash!_ The glass fell away in a rain of broken silver.

"Yeah, I see." The djinni sprang from the display case, taking the form of a scrawny brown housecat as it went.

The djinni sailed over the heads of the dark creatures and landed in the middle of the room, fur crackling with static electricity. A black cloud of magic erupted from the long brittle fingers of one of the strange beings, and the cat leapt away, shooting green blasts of magic back into the crowd.

Nathaniel ducked out of the display case and into the fray. Already several of the skeletal black creatures lay twisted upon the floor, but yet more still flooded into the room.

He turned sharply, sensing movement. One of the spirits limped toward him, unbending its scrawny twisted form to tower over Nathaniel as it clicked its gnarled claws together in anticipation.

"What's with all the Revenants, anyway?" He heard the cat yelp as one of the creatures caught it by the tail.

Nathaniel's hand moved again to the silver necklace. What had Piper called it? _Herodotus' Collar of Indefinite Entrapment_. Herodotus. So Greek, then?

"Who are you that disturbs this place?" the Revenant moaned in a horrid rasping voice.

Dimly, Nathaniel was aware of the cat's curious golden eyes upon him. "I?" he ran his fingers lightly over the silver links of the necklace, "I am Nathaniel. _Anoigo!_"

And Greek it was. The necklace burst to life, its aura suddenly pulsating with near-blinding energy. The Revenant squealed as the light strengthened, drawing the creature's essence away in foggy wisps of shadow, and siphoning it into the centre of the pendant. In but a moment, the spirit was gone.

The other creatures reared back, intimidated by this strange show of power. Nathaniel stared them down defiantly, hand poised expectantly over the silver pendant until his eyes finally met with those of Bartimaeus, who still dangled in mid-air from a Revenant's boney grasp.

The djinni shot him a dirty look. "I am Nathaniel? _That's_ all you've got? I've heard better introductions from a walnut." The cat twitched suddenly, clawing at his capture's outstretched arm so that it howled and dropped him to the floor.

"Hey guys," The cat called sarcastically as the Revenants closed in once more, "Tremble in fear! It's Nathaniel!"

"Shut up," Nathaniel mumbled.

"The great Nathaniel!" The djinni cried again, spinning a Revenant around and shooting it a conspiratorial wink "Master of the lacey handkerchief! Keeper of the long floppy hair of eldritch doom!" The Revenant hit the ground, felled by a well-timed Detonation. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

"Purveyor of buttered potatoes!" The cat continued "Owner of shoelaces! Warbler of off-key tunes!"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Nathaniel cried as he turned the necklace on the Revenants once more. The once-dense horde had thinned out considerably, and soon enough the last of the creatures was absorbed into the artifact or lay smoking upon the ground.

Only then did Piper emerge from what remained of the shattered display case.

"Is that it?" She asked shakily.

"Is that it?" Bartimaeus repeated incredulously, shifting into Ptolemy's form once more, "We just beat back an army of decrepit skeletons for heaven's sake. What does it take to impress you kids these days?"

"Thanks," Nathaniel offered sheepishly, running a hand through his long hair, "I hope we didn't summon you too soon."

"This is a prime example of the trouble you guys get into when I'm not around," the djinni scolded. "And where's Kitty?"

Piper shot him a knowing glance, and Nathaniel hid a smile.

"Come on," he said, beckoning them to the door, "Let's meet up with the others and check if they're okay."

oooooooooooooo

Kitty paced expectantly over the uneven flagstones of the Vault's entrance. The Hyrneks watched her warily as she strode from wall to wall, growing more impatient and irritable at every turn.

"And how long ago did you leave them?" She demanded yet again.

"Five minutes, maybe," Mr. Hyrnek replied patiently. "Nathaniel said he'd meet us back here."

It had been Kitty who had finally stumbled upon the Armory, at the end of a series of twisted corridors that seemed to move when she wasn't looking. No one had responded to her signal, and thus she had gathered what she could and made her way back to the entrance loaded with plastic bags packed with Inferno Sticks, Hurricane Cubes, Elemental Spheres – anything she could get her hands on.

When she had finally made it back through the maze, she had run into the three Hyrneks, looking harried and fearful as they lingered by the staircase that lead back up to the Parliament Buildings. Nathaniel and Piper had been set upon by spirits, they had told her, but the Hyrneks had come back here to the designated meeting place, waiting for them to show up. Or not as the case may be.

At last there was the sound of footsteps down the hall, and Kitty sagged in relief as Piper and Nathaniel arrived, followed to her surprise, by Bartimaeus.

"Are you three alright?" She asked anxiously, catching a hold of the djinni's shoulder.

Bartimaeus grinned. "Piper and I are fine," he answered, "But I think poor Nat's creativity is dying."

"Not all of us like to embellish our names with lists of ridiculous accomplishments," Nathaniel grumbled.

Kitty placed her hands on her hips. "Well," she said, "While you two were bickering, _someone _was gathering supplies. We are trying to start a rebellion here, remember?"

Bartimaeus heaved a bag of weaponry over his shoulder. "Of course. Let's get started on that, shall we?"

"Come on," Kitty said, heading for the stairs, "It's high time we set this plan in action."


	20. The Noble Uprising

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Sorry about how late this chapter is guys! We're almost at the end of the story here - just two or three more chapters to go. Thank you so much for reviewing: Riiko Shea, I Don't Bite-Much, Tane, Beautyfrompain, Bibby, The Broken Pentacle, Duchessa, Bobertalin, Lisette, Nari, Astreals Ashes, Allendra, and Falling Skies -- you guys brighten up my life! And of course, as always this chapter was betaed by the incredibly talented Lady Noir. Now on with the story!

* * *

Some minutes later, our little gang had convened in the street outside for a brief emergency planning seminar. Though it was nearly morning, the air was still cold and various members of our party were already acquiring a bluish tinge.

Ever cunning, Grandmamma Hyrnek wove through the small knot of people, snatching a scarf here and a mitten there. Insistently, she tugged at Nathaniel's sleeves until the boy obligingly slipped off his sweater and handed it to her. The old lady grinned toothlessly and slid it on over her already-bulky wool coat, until she closely resembled a wrinkly brown marshmallow that had been lying in the corner of the campfire to long. Bedecked in various woolen accoutrements, the elderly marshmallow plunked herself down in the fluffy comfort of the nearest snow bank, but not before fixing her greedy eyes meaningfully on the rest of us. [1. If she expected everyone to slip out of their woolens and lay them at her feet she had another thing coming. Not that I could have obliged her at any rate – the clothes I'd slapped on Ptolemy were more for decency's sake than warmth, and were as much an illusion as Ptolemy himself.]

The rest merely endured the cold, standing gathered around the steps where Kitty sat like a queen on her throne, handing out tasks and devising some measure of strategy with which to approach our harebrained goal.

"But if Bartimaeus and Nathaniel are going to kill the Emperor," Mr. Hyrnek was objecting, "Then shouldn't we _all_ be there to help?"

Kitty shook her head slightly, a little white cloud of condensation escaping into the chilly air as she exhaled.

"A government run by magicians is like the hydra. You can strike off its head, but another will arise to take its place. Killing Zaba is the easy part. What's most important is to get the people on our side."

"Hydrae…" I mentioned to no one in particular, "Such a chatty bunch. You can never get them to shut up once they start arguing with themselves."

"Well, if we need London on our side then Nathaniel should be with us, shouldn't he? Think of how quickly he had the people under his control last time!"

"_The people_, as you all like to call them, now think I'm a raving schizophrenic." Nathaniel shot me a pointed look.

"No one appreciates what I do for them," I muttered.

Kitty got to her feet and pressed one of the sacks of weaponry into Mr. Hyrnek's waiting arms.

"Bartimaeus and Nathaniel," she said firmly, "are going to Westminster while the rest of us rally the people. That is the plan and we're sticking to it. Any questions?"

"No one in their right mind would call that a plan," I complained, "It's not even an outline."

Unfortunately we were running short of alternative options, and so despite my valid misgivings, the weapons were doled out and we split up into our respective teams.

It was high time to set the ball in motion. The easternmost sliver of the sky was already beginning to lighten and London would not stay silent forever. Already the intermittent chirps of a morning bird brightened the air, yet still we all just stood there unmoving, as if unwilling or unable to part down our separate paths, no matter how necessary.

It was Kitty who moved first, wringing her hands together so tightly that the blood was forced from the tips of her white fingers.

"So…" she addressed Nathaniel austerely, "This is it then. You know what you have to do."

Nathaniel pressed his lips together uncertainly and gave a floppy nod of his head. I felt I knew what was happening here and elbowed him in the gut.

"Psst, Nat," I whispered, "It's customary to give the girl a kiss goodbye before riding off to your certain doom."

Not that I particularly liked the thought of Kitty Jones kissing Natty-boy. Or anyone else for that matter. Ever. Under any circumstances. But I also didn't like the thought of Kitty being lonely, and clearly if the two of them were meant to be together they were going to need some outside help.

Nathaniel was unimpressed. "You know," he mumbled into my ear, "I don't really think I should be taking romantic advice from you. Even if I was interested. Which I'm not."

I tossed off a nonchalant shrug. "Whatever you say, boss."

With a terse nod of farewell to the others, Nathaniel jammed his hands in his pockets and trod out into the street, shoulders hunched against the snowy gale.

"Hey, wait up," I called, "I'm supposed to be coming with you!" I leapt up to run after the boy, when without warning Kitty's arm shot out and yanked me back. She grasped my shoulders tightly and gave me a long look.

I stared back at her, bewildered, waiting for her to say something, do something, but she just stood there as though trying to burn a hole through my head with the power of her brain. Someone coughed lightly behind us.

"…Don't you dare die on me," she said at last.

"Hey, what about me?" Nathaniel called, earning a withering glare from the girl.

"I mean it," she repeated to me.

It was a moment that seemed to stretch out forever. There I was: paralyzed and knee deep in snow, with Kitty's slender fingers resting on my shoulders. And there she was: an angelic halo of snowflakes resting in her hair, still staring solemnly at me from beneath long black eyelashes…

I was suddenly overcome with a wave of pure, unadulterated fear.

I pulled back in a fit of nervous coughing that did nothing to clear the clenched knot in my throat.

"I'll try not to," I promised.

I almost tripped over my own feet in my blind haste to return to Nathaniel's side.

"Hypocrite," I heard the boy mutter under his breath.

"Huh?"

"You should have taken your own advice. Well, come on."

I trailed reluctantly after Nathaniel, shooting a glance back over my shoulder to where Kitty still stood – a dark, watchful figure against the grey of the snow. She grew smaller and more indistinct as moved further and further away, yet still I could make out the sweep of her arm as she waved farewell.

I lifted a hand to wave back, and – _thunk! _– promptly walked right into a lamppost.

"Come on Romeo," said Nathaniel, steering me towards the wide expanse of Parliament Street.

The throbbing of the brand new bruise I now had forming between my eyes dropped from my mind as I glanced down the length of road and caught sight of the soaring façade of Westminster Abbey that towered at its end. Nat and I exchanged glances.

"It doesn't look so bad," I said contemplatively, "It's just a gargantuan gothicedifice, right? And those guards don't look so tough. How many do you think there are? Thirty?"

"More like three hundred," Nathaniel moaned, "And it's just you and me."

"Exactly. Perk up Nat, this is our chance for some good old male bonding!"

Nathaniel sighed despondently and buried his face in his palm.

oooooooooooooo

With Nathaniel and Bartimaeus on their way, it was time to execute the second half of the plan. Kitty gathered her wits and glanced sharply about her, taking in the bright sliver of sun peaking up over the rooftops. It was still early and London was only just beginning to awake from its deep, winter sleep.

"The streets are far too empty; we need to start some kind of commotion," Kitty mused aloud.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Hyrnek asked.

"I mean we need to get people's attention somehow. Start a fight perhaps."

The Hyrneks looked at each other, then simultaneously burst into a three-person uproar of noise and flailing limbs.

"My leg!" Mr. Hyrnek dove to the ground and rolled around in the gutter, clutching his shin. "Oh please, someone! My leg!"

Seemingly ignorant of her husband's distress, Mrs. Hyrnek's jaw dropped open and a blood-curdling shriek issued forth, "_Aghhhh_! _Agggghhhh_!" Her face screwed up into a startlingly purple knot of strain as she swayed dangerously from oxygen deprivation.

Grandmamma Hyrnek, too, leapt into action, rapping her umbrella against the nearest window, rattling the glass with each insistent swing. "_Chcípni, ty bezcenné Angličan!_" she howled, "The Czechs are upon you, lazy scum!"

They were certainly gaining attention. Faces were beginning to appear at windows, peaking down into the street in curiosity and alarm. A small knot of pedestrians who huddled at the bus stop shifted uneasily and murmured amongst themselves, and a lone passing car slowed to a stop and rolled down its window.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" The driver called irately.

Kitty hesitated. She had their interest for this brief moment, but how to proceed?

Piper made the decision for her.

"Everyone, look!" The tiny brown-haired woman yelled as she snatched Kitty's wrist and waved it in the air, "It's a miracle!"

"Isn't that the Prime Minister? What does she think she's doing?"

"Who's that beside her?"

"My god, it's–"

"That's right!" Piper shrieked with enough fervor to knock the snow off a nearby lamppost, "Kathleen Jones has returned from the dead to lead Britain to victory!"

That got their attention.

"You guys are all crazy,"Kitty whispered as Piper pushed her towards the forming crowd.

"Go get 'em," Piper replied with a smirk.

A wall of expectant faces greeted her with expressions of bewilderment and awe. Kitty cleared her throat nervously, and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

"People of London," she began.

"That's us!" the mailman, balanced on a bicycle, exclaimed eagerly.

"Er... People of London, what Rebecca Piper has told you is true. I am Kitty Jones, alive and well as you can see before you."

"The very Kitty Jones," Piper interjected, "Who stood up against Devereaux's government single handedly. Kitty Jones – the champion of commoner's rights! Kitty Jones, who laid the very foundations of the People's Parliament!"

Murmurs rose up through the crowd.

_"Ms. Jones is alive; I can't believe it!"_

_"It must be a trick – I attended the funeral myself!"_

_"Is it really her? I can't see. Move over!"_

Kitty backed up a few steps as the crowd pressed forward.

"Listen," she called out, "Zaba and his army have been squatting over our country long enough. Their occupation ends tonight! If there's even one free bone left in your body, then follow me."

_"What did she say?"_

_"Something's happening. Come on, let's go!"_

Ever eager for a sensation, the crowd trampled forth with Kitty at its head, leading the way up Parliament Street towards the wide expanse of Trafalgar Square.

Here more than anywhere else, the sidewalks were teaming with signs of life. Clumps of harried-looking people hurried to and fro, disappearing down the concrete steps to the Tube or hopping on or off of one of the city's iconic bright red buses. Groups of children chased after pigeons or tossed lumps of half melted snow into the symmetrically placed fountains. Weaving in and out of the crowds, a handful of Vigilance Spheres cast a watchful eye on the population – an ever-present reminder that the city was no longer free.

Kitty hesitated a moment as her instincts warned her to dodge out of sight before one of Zaba's little spherical spies spotted her, but she fought it back and stepped forward. She was here to be seen, and if the Emperor tried to stop her, well so be it.

Her trail of followers tagged along curiously as she strode to the centre of the square where Nelson's Column plunged up into the sky. Bystanders stopped and stared as she passed, some recognizing her as their long-dead folk hero, others simply wondering why a swarm of people were pursuing a filthy young girl carrying a haversack.

With an ever-increasing sense of purpose, she climbed up the plinth of the column and looked out over the square. The crowd she had attracted pressed in, gathering at the foot of the monument and staring up at her with expectant faces. Farther off, she could see the Hyrneks winding up and down the side-streets, ushering people towards the ensuing hubbub.

What had started as a small crowd of a few dozen had quickly turned into a teaming throng of hundreds. Kitty pushed back the threads of nervousness that twined about her stomach and took a deep breath.

"Fellow Britons," She called out, "Many of you already know who I am. My name is Kitty Jones, a commoner like yourselves. Two weeks ago, I was found murdered in my home and buried in a graveyard not far from this very spot."

A murmuring rose up through the crowd, and Kitty continued.

"On the eve of my death, this city was a very different place than the one before me today. Perhaps these past two weeks have been long enough to drive it from your memory, but I still recall the London that once was. And it wasn't a place of golems and police and vigilance spheres. It wasn't headed by an Emperor or fueled by magic. It didn't make domination and expansionism its deepest values. Never would I have guessed that the people of this country could live under such a state after getting a taste of freedom.

"Haven't we had enough? After deposing our own magicians, why have we submitted to the rule of the Emperor's? I know you're afraid; I know how much simpler it seems to do nothing – but if no one resists then we will all fall together. I'm not asking you to fight because I or anyone else tells you to do so. No. I want you to make a choice. Your _own_ choice. Today, you must stop blowing whatever way the wind blows and decide whether life under the magicians is what you truly want."

Piper and the Hyrneks had returned and now stood at the base of the column facing the gathering with sacks of weaponry at the ready. The crowd had fallen into a deathly silence. Kitty's eyes roved back and forth, meeting the gaze of each individual in turn.

"If your choice is to allow Zaba to continue to occupy your country, then go about your business. But if you want to see that world that existed just two weeks ago once more, then come and stand with me and together we will overthrow Zaba and Farrar and anyone else who attempts to manipulate us!"

The crowd did not disperse, but neither did anyone surge forward to take up arms against the new regime. Instead the hordes of Londoners waivered uncertainly, glancing nervously at their neighbours and remaining absolutely silent. Kitty bit her lip.

"I know it's a hard decision, but–"

"There she is!" a scratchy voice bellowed out.

There was a shot, and Kitty watched in shocked paralysis as a bright silver object came streaking out of the sky and embedded itself deep into the stone behind her.

"Surprised to see me?" A man shoved his way to the front of the crowd, his shaven head rife with ugly purple burns, and his swampy grey uniform hanging in scorched tatters from his shoulders. In his outstretched arm he bore a pistol, still smoking from the bullet that had nearly lodged itself between Kitty's eyes. Her mind worked furiously – this must be the man who had shot Bartimaeus! Other members of the Night Police were pushing forwards through the crowd, snapping angrily at the civilians in their way.

Kitty's hand moved to snatch up an Inferno Stick from the bag at her feet, but the werewolf was too quick. With a snarl of primal rage, the man tackled her to the ground. Kitty's vision blacked out for a moment as her head struck the pavement and the man's large hands wrapped around her throat.

And that was it. The necessary motivation. The crowd leapt instantly into action, grabbing whatever they had at hand to bludgeon the attacking wolves in their midst. Morcant howled in frustration as a dozen hands reached forward to pry him off of Kitty's prone form, but he could not break free. Kitty scrambled backwards out of reach of his flailing arms, pulling herself back up onto the base of the icy platform and lying there a moment, shoulders heaving with every breath. Below, Piper and the Hyrneksran here and there, tossing weapons into the eager hands of the enraged Londoners who jumped at the opportunity to wreak vengeance upon the Night Police who had terrorized them for so long.

From her vantage point atop the base of Nelson's Column, Kitty watched the ensuing battle in awe. The wolves disappeared from sight as the mob swarmed over them like the tide washing over a seashell. A swell of pride welled up within her. Victory was certain, for with London on their side, who could stand against them?

And that, apparently, was when Zaba took notice.

_Boom_. A tremor like an earthquake ran through the street. _Boom_. _Boom_. Another and another. The crowd stopped fighting and glanced uncertainly across the square.

A cold grey fog was seeping down Parliament Street from the direction of Westminster. It spread sluggishly into the square and curled into sliding tendrils against the pavement. Cumbersome silhouettes could be glimpsed through the mist; rough, earthen shapes like giants lumbering towards the frozen crowd.

Golems.

Kitty's heart leapt into her throat.

The golems shambled into the crowd. A chorus of screams rose up as stragglers were trampled underfoot, and grown men were sent flying into the air at each swing of the creatures' heavy clay fists.

"Listen to me," Kitty cried out, "We have to remove the scrolls from their mouths!"

Her voice was lost in the tumult. A few adventurous souls attempted to shoot the monsters down with their Inferno Sticks, but the blue blasts of flame fizzled out against the creatures' heavy cloak of fog.

Kitty ran for the nearest golem. Perhaps if she could pull out the scroll, the others would follow her lead. She hopped up onto the curved edge of a fountain and prepared for a running leap–

When she promptly found herself crashing face first into the pavement once more.

"It's not going to be that easy little missy," Morcant hissed, pressing the muzzle of his gun to her forehead.

In a burst of blind adrenaline, Kitty smashed her palm up into the man's nose. Something snapped beneath her hand, and the man howled as blood dripped down his chin. More importantly, the gun had fallen from his fingers and lay just out of her reach.

They lunged for it at the same moment. Kitty's fingers brushed against the cool metal just as Morcant clamped down on her arm, trapping it to the ground. She struggled, ramming her elbow into his ribs and causing him to falter a moment. In those crucial few seconds she swung the weapon around and squeezed down on the trigger.

Morcant's eyes bulged in surprise as the shot rang out and he toppled to the side, clutching the wound in his chest. Kitty stumbled to her feet and looked down upon him, her eyes hard and unforgiving.

"Perhaps loading your weapon with silver bullets wasn't such a smart idea after all?"

He might not have heard her, for the werewolf heaved a final gasp before going glassy eyed, his head knocking lightly against the pavement. Kitty continued to glare furiously at him, her blood pulsing in her ears.

"Kitty! Kitty, are you alright?" Piper's voice woke her from her stupor.

The Prime Minister rushed to her side, hair askew and face streaked with soot. Kitty tottered precariously and would have fallen if Piper had not reached out to stabilize her. She heaved a deep breath.

"I'm fine."

Piper glanced down at Morcant's lifeless form, then out at the battle raging around them. The golems still waded through the crowd of rebels, raining down destruction from above. Across the square, a battalion of soldiers was marching upon them as reinforcements.

"Kitty," Piper said slowly, "I don't think we can win this fight."

Kitty shook her head grimly.

"If Bartimaeus and Nathaniel don't succeed… you may be right."


	21. Flancalla

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud

A/N: Thank you so much Riiko Shea, Tane, Allendra, Duchessa, Astreals Ashes, Bibby, beautyfrompain, Nari, Random Inspired, and Lisette for your reviews last chapter. 200 reviews – whew that's awesome! It's been delightful hearing your comments over these past 20 chapters. On that note, this is the second last chapter in the story (minus the epilogue) and things will soon be coming to an end.

PS – this chapter was betaed as always by the amazing Lady Noir.

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"Stop that – it _itches_."

Nathaniel wriggled and squirmed as if he was attempting some kind of spaghetti noodle mating dance. Not that I blamed him. I'd squirm too if I had a spider crawling up my ear canal.

"Stop that," I whispered, trying hard not to deafen the boy, "Or else I'm going to slip and wind up in your cochlea or something."

Nathaniel flinched. "The second we're inside you are _out_, you hear me?"

"No worries," I assured him, "There's no way I'd be able to get that far unless I punctured your eardrum."

Nathaniel didn't seem comforted.

Westminster Bridge was just to the left, indicating that we had nearly arrived at the abbey. From my nestled spot in Nathaniel's ear I could hear the rushing waters of the great river, the main artery of London that pulsed its way here to the city's heart before snaking away southwards. [1. To extend the metaphor, icy Westminster made for a rather cold, miserable heart, over-populated with pigeon droppings, and if the Thames was an artery, it would be a particularly sluggish, polluted one. The plastic bottles and old fast food cartons that caught in the sooty clumps of slush that adorned the water's edge would, I suppose, represent those delightfully stringy blood clots that tend to fling the overly-gluttonous into instant cardiac arrest. A rather apt comparison if I do say so myself.]

"This area is closed off from civilians," a sharp voice declared. Nathaniel met the approaching soldier's gaze evenly.

"I'm no civilian Captain."

A muted gasp went up from the ranks as the Czech forces presumably recognized their prodigal magician in all of his battered, stringy-haired glory.

_"Mandrake…"_ someone growled.

_"Isn't he a defector?"_

The Captain's leathery face took on a grim expression and he clamped a hand down on Nat's shoulder as if he expected the kid to run off.

"Farrar's going to want to deal with this herself," he told his compatriots, "Check him for weapons."

As the soldiers went about divesting Nathaniel of Hurricane Cubes, Inferno Sticks, Bottled Liquidifications and the like, the old Captain leaned in to mutter in his ear. [2. Not the one I was sitting in, incidentally.]

"I don't know what you think you're doing kiddo, but you're in for a world of disappointment."

Nathaniel gulped audibly as the last Implosion Prism was pulled from his pocket and he was pushed forwards into the shadow of the looming abbey, as defenseless as a garden slug.

…Well not quite.

He had me, after all.

oooooooooooooo

Nathaniel nearly tripped over his feet as he was shoved roughly over the uneven stonework of the abbey floor. He fiddled nervously with the pendant around his neck; _Herodotus' Collar of Indefinite Entrapment_ was the only thing they hadn't thought to take from him. Not that a necklace that absorbed spirits would be much help against Jane Farrar in any case.

A turn of a sharp corner, and suddenly Nathaniel found himself in the vaulted corridor of the abbey's cloisters. A soft _tip, tap, tip, tap_, echoed from the other end, and suddenly Farrar swung into sight, pacing purposefully down the hall. The Captain hailed her and she halted, folding her arms stiffly across her chest.

"Captain Sedlak, why have you deserted your post?" she asked sharply, "There's a riot going on in Trafalgar square as I'm sure you're aware."

The soldier shrugged and gestured vaguely towards Nathaniel, who was still grinning faintly from the news of Kitty's successful provocation of the masses.

Farrar stiffened as her eyes fell on the young magician. Her face turned white, then red, then white again.

"Just what are you _doing_ here John?" she hissed. The dragon on her shoulder bared its teeth menacingly.

"This is where I say _adios_," The spider whispered, darting out of Nathaniel's ear and becoming a blue-green dragonfly, "Good luck with Lady Psycho here, I'm off to find Zaba."

Nathaniel nodded imperceptibly as the dragonfly drifted out of sight and turned back to Farrar with a sickly-sweet smile on his face.

"Sister darling – it's good to see you again."

"Mandrake, look here–"

Whatever Farrar had expected probably didn't involve the long-lost magician throwing his arms around her and giving a hearty squeeze with a giant goofy smile plastered over his face.

"I…you…" Farrar trailed off, confounded. She gave his back an awkward pat and ducked hurriedly out of his enthusiastic embrace.

"Ahem. John," she began carefully, "Would you mind explaining what exactly is going on? The last I recall, you were gallivanting off with the enemy."

"Oh Jane, it was terrible," Nathaniel began, his voice dripping with distress, "That horrible girl sent her demon into my head and it took me right over! They kidnapped me and kept me tied up in the basement. I haven't eaten in days. I only managed to escape from them during the fighting and came here in search you. I want to help!"

Farrar's brow furrowed. "A demon in your head? You were possessed?"

"I couldn't do a single thing that the creature didn't ordain. It was like something had swallowed my mind."

"How fortunate that you managed to escape," Farrar said. "As right now is when we're in most need of your expertise. Jones and her people have stirred up some kind of commotion in Trafalgar square. Now that you're back, I could just have you waltz on down there and sort things out. You could talk down the populous – you've as much influence over them as Kitty does. Then it's a simple matter of killing the leaders and rounding up the rest to make an example of. I'd just have to hand you this," she stretched out her arm to offer up a slender Inferno Stick and Nathaniel reached eagerly for it.

"But then," she said coolly, snatching it just out of his grasp, "That's not what you're going to do with this, is it?"

Nathaniel reeled back, throwing himself to the ground as Farrar discharged the weapon in a jet of roaring blue flame.

"You're a terrible liar John."

Nathaniel rolled to the side as Farrar's dragon spirit dove for him in a confusion of teeth, wing beats, and long serrated talons.

"I suppose that –" the djinni's swing met skin and Nathaniel clutched the side of his face with a wince, "I suppose that I simply haven't had as much practice as you have."

The spirit let fly a barrage of Detonations, and the boy was forced to dart behind a stone colonnade. One crackling ball of green energy sailed over his head to explode at Farrar's feet.

"_Sirrush_!" Farrar yelled, startled by the near miss.

The dragon hesitated a moment, then lunged for the magician, and Nathaniel groped for the chain around his neck.

"_Anoigo!_" he shouted, raising the pendant above his head as Sirrush barreled towards him.

The silver necklace hummed with life as it pulled at the djinni's form in dark wisps, like old bathwater sucked into a vacuum cleaner. The bright coloured dragon looked surprised, and then resigned, as its body dissolved away around it. In a moment, the creature was gone entirely, drawn into the strange rune set into the metal. Nathaniel dropped the silver pendant and let it swing freely around his neck; the surface was hot enough to emit a hissing stream of smoke.

Panting from adrenaline as much as exertion, Nathaniel raised his eyes to the neatly dressed woman across the hall whose eyes bored into him with the divine fury of all nine circles of hell.

Nathaniel ran.

oooooooooooooo

Even from the interior, the nave of Westminster Abbey had a soaring, vertical feel. Morning sunlight filtered in from the long glass windows, chasing shadows from between the network of arcs in the ribbed ceiling high above and falling in glowing pools upon the tiled floor. The dragonfly flitted between pillars, scanning the vastly ornamented hall for any sign of Zaba.

The squat wooden chairs that normally sat here before the alter had been cleared away to make way for a wide, map covered table, around which several official-looking fellows gathered, arguing vehemently. I hung back in the event that some of them might be wearing lenses. There were few spirits in attendance – presumably those they had in their service had been sent out to the battle.

Zaba was not here. The dragonfly moved on. Flitting over the choir stalls, I came upon the dark wooden pews before the high alter. This seemed to be Zaba's hang-out, judging from the number of guards milling about the place. The conspicuously placed armchair upon the platform was, however, empty. Where had that blasted dictator got to?

Something else caught my eye.

At the foot of the steps to the altar, a skeletal figure drooped over a series of pale crystal orbs. His cheekbones protruded from his sunken face like wings and matted clumps of dull brown hair fell into his bloodshot eyes. His skin was a pasty grey, giving him the overall appearance of a zombie fresh from the grave.

Karl Kavka had certainly deteriorated since the last time Kitty and I had seen him. Zaba could wait, I decided. I had a job to do.

I came to hover above a soldier who stood a little apart from the others, leaning against a wall near the north transept. He looked impossibly bored.

As inconspicuously as possible I dropped onto his head. Pushing past greasy follicles of hair, I pressed an Insentience to his scalp and jumped back as he toppled numbly to the ground and lay there, blinking stupidly up at the ceiling. One down, three to go.

Unfortunately, the second soldier wasn't quite so cooperative as the first, and I was forced to incinerate the last two with a hasty detonation as they rushed to answer their comrade's cries for help.

The smoke cleared, leaving Karl and I alone in a forest of gold leaf and dark-stained wood.

"I-Is someone there?" the young Czech man called timorously. I fluttered over and circled his head a few times before dropping down in the form of Ptolemy.

"Hey Karl," I greeted, leaning casually over the desk.

"Gahhh!" He jerked back, topping over his stool and crashing into the floor. I hoped he hadn't broken anything – the man looked like he was made of nothing but dust and cobwebs.

"Well, I'll just be taking these…" I hefted up one of the orbs from the desk and spun it on one finger. Over the murky surface flashed a brief image of an elderly man being stomped into the pavement, and I frowned.

Karl's eyes widened as he watched the precarious wobbling of the crystal ball. "What are you doing?" he gasped in a voice like sandpaper.

"What now," I let it come to a rest in my palm, "Surely you're not on Zaba's side?"

Karl wrung his boney hands and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Sir – whoever you are – if I lose control of the golems he'll kill me! Please!"

I raised an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical once-over. "If you haven't noticed, he's doing a pretty good job of that already. You're not exactly the picture of strength and virility at the moment, now are you?"

"I don't want to die!"

"Yeah?" I let the orb slide from my hand, and Karl went rigid with horror as gravity worked a number on the fragile sphere.

"Don't worry you're pretty little head," I said, making a show of contemplating the swirling surface of another orb before tossing it, too, over my shoulder, "Zaba's not going to find the time to kill you. Because _I'm_ about to kill _him_."

A well aimed Hurricane was all it took to send the rest of the orbs hurdling off the table in a symphony of splintering glass, and a muted hiss like escaping steam went up as a mist of grey magic rose up from the orbs' shattered corpses.

Karl let out a woeful moan and buried his face in his hands.

oooooooooooooo

A bedraggled imp dropped to the pavement, felled by a blast from Kitty's Inferno Stick. The tide of Czech fighters seemed unending and her weapon was beginning to give out, sputtering and smoking with each gush of flame. Kitty was beginning to feel like a piece of driftwood washed out to sea; surrounded and carried along by a current of hostile forces, it was only a matter of time before she went under.

Here in the thick of things the golems ruled the battlefield. Kitty darted to the side to avoid a swinging stone limb, only to have a cold, hardened fist wrap around her shoulders and torso and hoist her into the air.

She fired away at the lumbering creature, but the electric blue flames fizzed and died against the damp clay of the golem's skin. It tightened its grip and Kitty gasped for breath.

"You want to fight dirty?" she yelled, chucking the Inferno Stick at the creature's head and striking it in its single Cyclops eye. The golem reeled back, growling.

Kitty tensed, waiting for a retaliating blow, but none came. The golem had frozen where it stood, its controlling eye dull and motionless as if the intelligence behind it had disappeared.

It wasn't just Kitty's golem either. All across Trafalgar Square the golems had stilled, paralyzed where they stood.

"Thank you, Bartimaeus," Kitty muttered, wriggling out from between the creature's fingers and crawling up the sloping arm to perch on its shoulders.

"Everyone," she shouted, "Remove the scrolls from the golem's mouth. Like this!" she leaned forwards as far as she could and fished around in the giant's gaping mouth. Her fingers struck a crisp roll of paper and she drew it out, holding it above her head for all to see.

The golem slumped forwards lifelessly, now nothing more than a doll of clay.

Kitty got to her feet atop the clay giant's broad shoulders and watched as the battlefield altered before her eyes; the frozen golems toppling right and left as the people snatched away the rolls of parchment that gave them life.

A triumphant smile curled at Kitty's lips and she raised an arm to point down the stretch of road between Trafalgar and the Abbey ahead.

"To Westminster!" she cried as the crowd surged forward around her.


	22. Viva la…

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Triology is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Hi guys! I apologize profusely for the lateness of this chapter. In my defence, it's the last one and I needed some time to put it together. Tane, Timay(yyyyy), The Elvin-Spear, Lisette, beautyfrompain, Riiko Shea, Nari, SailorXStar, Bibby, Allendra, Emeralddarkness, I Don't Bite Much, and George, thanks for dropping me a review, and of course, triple thanks to the lovely Lady Noir, without whom this story would be near-illegible. So then, onwards with chapter 22! Hmm, brawling in a cathedral... why does it feel like I've written this before? XD Thank you all so much for reading this far, and make sure you stick around for the epilogue!

* * *

Awkward silence reigned supreme in Westminster Abbey where a hazardous dust of razor-edged glass shards littered the flagstones at the foot of the high alter. Karl Kavka sat white and rigid on his stool, eyes flitting alternatively between the broken remnants of several years of forced labour and the undignified sight of the soldiers who'd guarded him sprawled out on the floor, unconscious and otherwise. Following the emancipated man's lead, I too surveyed the area and awarded myself an imaginary round of applause.

"Well, we made short work of that, huh?" I said, gesturing grandly toward the general ruination surrounding us.

Karl was unfortunately not able to appreciate the stunning display of efficiency which had laid waste to the golem-controlling orbs, and instead merely mumbled incoherently while running his hands fretfully through unkempt hair.

"Cheer up pal," I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "You've got nothing to worry about. Well…beyond recovering from post traumatic stress disorder and severe malnourishment, that is."

Karl took a long, slow breath and tried to still his fidgeting hands. "Y-You don't understand. You might have neutralized the golems but that means nothing. Not when Zaba is –"

"Right behind you," a new voice inserted.

I froze.

These types of interjections never mean anything good. Whether it is the king popping by just as you were discussing an ingenious assassination plot, or your boss at work after you've just spouted off a particularly raucous joke concerning him, the end result is always distinctly unpleasant. Obviously in this case it wasn't a king or a businessman behind me, but instead an Emperor.

"Vavrin Zaba," I said warily, spinning around to face the smirking blonde gentleman seated in the front pew, "How long have you been sitting there?"

Zaba smirked. The so-called Czech Emperor held an easy grace and youth; his lanky form was clad in a fashionable suit that would have been more at home at a cocktail party than in our austere surroundings. Nat would have probably liked him back in his good ol' days of backstabbing and social climbing.

"I admit I'm at a bit of a loss as to who you are, friend," His Excellency proclaimed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, "Though I hazard a guess that you have something to do with the insurrection down the street?"

"I might know a thing or two," I confided, "But I'm certainly not responsible for it. You have Kitty Jones to thank for that."

"Kitty Jones? Ah yes, that anarchist girl that Jane is so intent on. Tell me, didn't she die a while ago?"

"Yes, well. She's made a stunning recovery as I suspect you'll see for yourself."

All through this polite chit-chat I'd been subtly angling myself for a clear shot at the lounging Emperor. At this moment I went for it, thrusting out my palm and conjuring forth the most vicious Detonation I could pull together.

Zaba, however, anticipated me. Three spirits were at his side so suddenly that I couldn't tell if he'd summoned them up or whether they'd been there all along, unseen.

The first leapt forward, throwing itself into the path of the oncoming arc of green light. That was unsurprisingly the last I ever saw of it. [1. For which I am entirely grateful, seeing as the creature was of a particularly unsightly variety. It sort of looked like it had been flipped inside out with all those wonderful squishy internal bits flailing around on the outside if you can imagine. The world may never know what a great service I did it.]

The two remaining spirits took to the air, spiraling up amongst the arches of the roof to rain magic down upon me from above. A quick shuffling through the planes suggested they were some kind of high-level djinn or even some species of the even more unpleasant afrit.

I wove left and right, dodging multicoloured bolts of energy and aiming a few hurried Detonations their way.

_Hey,_ _I can take them. _

_No problem. _

An Inferno blasted a crater into the previously polished floor by my feet and I skittered hastily out of the way. Above, one of the creatures folded in its wings and plummeted down toward me like a comet, its skeletal bat-like talons outstretched.

_...I hope._

oooooooooooooo

He'd managed to put some distance between them, but Nathaniel could still faintly hear the sharp _click, click_ of Jane's heeled shoes in rapid pursuit. His lungs were burning from exertion, but not as hotly as his face.

He was supposed to be the hero here, slipping suavely into the enemy's fortress to save the day. Instead he found himself unarmed and unprepared, fleeing like a coward before a boney slip of a woman. He needed a weapon pronto before this situation spiraled further out of control. A frustrated groan escaped Nathaniel's lips and he buried his forehead in his palm. Bartimaeus was _never_ going to let him hear the end of this.

Nathaniel picked up the pace as a dim clamor sounded from within the main sanctuary of the church. He thrust open the ornamented wooden door and stopped short.

Perhaps Bartimaeus wasn't going to be quite so smug after all. It was hard to be smug when you were being grappled by an enormous creature that could only be described as the bastard offspring of a bat and a zombie. The massive thing dug its claws into the djinni's narrow shoulders, the haphazard beats of its monstrous wings sending the pair of them careening this way and that. Ptolemy's bare feet skidded over the smooth reflective floor with a high pitched squeal as they were both sent crashing into a display of potted plants.

Covered in soil and bits of bracken, the djinni propped himself up and caught sight of Nathaniel standing in the doorway.

"Nat–" _Whump!_The djinni attempted to speak, but his attention wavered as a second bat-like creature whacked him firmly over the head with a long gold filigree candlestick.

"What's the big idea?" the djinni muttered disconsolately, rubbing the top of his head with his free hand. The spirit gave him another swift wallop in answer.

"Hey Nat!" Bartimaeus scowled at Nathaniel who still stood mutely in the doorway, "Don't just–" _Thwack!_ "Stand there! Lend me a–" _Thump!_ "Hand!"

Glancing quickly around the room in search of something he could use to save the djinni from the killer headache he seemed destined for, Nathaniel spied a cluttered desk that had been shoved to one side. He ignored the curiously withered weeping man that sat on the stool behind it and snatched up a silver paperweight from its surface, hurling it straight for the creature still perched atop Bartimaeus's shoulders.

The small silver oval sailed in a clean arc through the air and sank through the narrow forehead with a dank hiss. The bat-creature reeled back, sputtering and screeching as its own silvery essence ran into its eyes.

Bartimaeus was quick to react, leaping to his feet in an instant and finishing the blinded spirit off with a barrage of magic.

The other spirit shrieked in displeasure and lifted a gnarled, taloned foot. Nathaniel barely had time to register the jet of hot green light that came barreling toward him before Bartimaeus had yanked him out of the way. They hit the floor hard just as the gush of flame passed overhead, searing the hairs on the back of Nathaniel's neck.

"Where have you been?" The djinni demanded, pulling the young magician back up to his feet. "Surely it didn't take you that long to finish Farrar off."

Nathaniel didn't answer in favour of winding his fingers through the silver chain about his neck. The second bat-creature's blood-shot eyes widened as they fell upon the Greek insignia in the centre of the pendant.

Before Nathaniel could call out the command word, a ripple of pure force barreled towards him at the speed of an oncoming freight train. The Concussion struck him head on, tossing him head-over-heels backward and sending the necklace skittering over the polished stone floor.

"Nathaniel!" The magician was dimly aware of the djinni's shout through the dark haze in his brain. He wondered if he'd landed on his neck.

There was a ripple in the air as the bat spirit landed heavily beside him, filling his nose with the choking odor of rotting flesh. Nathaniel suppressed a gag and rolled over, scrabbling desperately at the floor in an effort to reach his lost weapon. The creature slammed his arm down, trapping it against the stone.

Gritting his teeth, Nathaniel jammed his fingers in the creature's eye, wincing as it reeled back with a cry of pain and outrage and took wing. Choking back bile, he reached across the floor. This was his only chance.

At last the very tip of one finger curled around a silver link of the necklace's chain. The spirit was snarling, swooping down to swipe at him with curved talons…

"_Anoigo!_"

The creature squealed and tried to backpedal in midair, but it was too late. The pendant had caught it in its ruthless vacuum pull, and its liquid essence ripped away, funneled into the centre of the shining Greek ornament.

Only in the ensuing deathly silence did Nathaniel realize that that spirit had been the last.

He stood panting a moment before his shoulders rolled forward and his tensed muscles sagged in relief. The fingers that clenched the silver pendent felt cold and numb despite the burning heat that ran through the metal. That was three times now that the necklace had saved his life. He silently swore to never take it off.

"You okay, Nat?"

The boy nodded weakly.

Unlike Nathaniel, the press of danger had only served to invigorate Bartimaeus. The djinni turned his attention to the suddenly pallid Emperor seated in the front pew and grinned widely. "So where was I?" he said blithely, wandering over with a light step. "Oh yes. Gloating nefariously at your shame and defeat, wasn't it?"

"I think you'll find that the last laugh belongs to me," a cold voice hissed out over Nathaniel shoulder. The cool plastic casing of an Inferno Stick pressed against the back of his head with a mocking gentleness.

"Farrar," he spat.

Across the room, Bartimaeus' dark eyes narrowed. "See? What did I say about interjections?" he muttered under his breath.

Zaba suddenly looked a great deal more composed. Rising from the pew in one sweeping movement, he opened his arms and smiled.

"Jane," he called genially, "Always there when I need you!"

"You'd better not forget it," Farrar gritted out.

"Of course not, Jane. When have I ever doubted your loyalty? And you John, my dear boy…" He took a few gliding steps toward Nathaniel and studied him with a contemplative smirk. "You, on the other hand, have proven most unreliable." Behind him, Bartimaeus shifted like a cat ready to spring.

"I hope you've considered, djinni, that John Mandrake will die at the first move you make," Zaba called out blandly without turning around. The djinni crossed his arms and glowered.

"Now John, despite your unfortunate track record, I'm prepared to offer you a deal. As I'm sure you're aware, there's a rebellion raging down the street, and while I'm sure my soldiers can handle it, I'd prefer if it didn't have to come down to fighting."

"Why, exactly, would that concern me?" Nathaniel asked skeptically.

"Because you, Mr. Mandrake, have an unusual gift." The Emperor leaned in close, a small smile playing at his lips. "_Charisma_. I haven't forgotten the success of your broadcast the night of the invasion. To the citizens of London, you are a hero of legend. Ms. Jones has the unruly masses firmly behind her at the moment, but I have no doubt you could turn the tide in our favour with a few well placed words."

Nathaniel met Zaba's cold blue-eyed gaze evenly, unwilling to be stared down. "You want my help, and yet you seem so certain that your men will win. If that's the case, then why do you need me I wonder?" Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "Let's make a bet Zaba. Sooner or later an army is going to burst through that door, either yours or mine. And I'll wager my life it'll be mine."

Zaba's face tightened with suppressed rage and he surged forward, clutching a fistful of Nathaniel's shirt. "Waiting," he snarled, "Isn't an option. Your choices are these: cooperate or die."

Nathaniel recoiled backward, but a firm jab of the Inferno Stick against his skull made him freeze. He inhaled sharply and met Zaba's eyes once again.

"I'd far rather die a free man than continue to live as your pawn," he declared.

With a snarl, Zaba lifted him clean off his feet and shook him violently. "You _will_ do as I say!"

There was a sharp intake of breath and Bartimaeus waved madly from across the room. "Hey pal," he shouted, "Hands off the kid!"

Nathaniel gave a strangled choke as Zaba's grip on him tightened. He could feel his pulse pounding through his temples as around him the walls of the room seemed to crawl over each other and melt into a dull blur of colour.

"Jane," To Nathaniel's oxygen-starved brain, Zaba's voice seemed to bounce meaninglessly between his ears. "Rid me of this traitorous wretch."

Nathaniel was far too close to being strangled to death to care about being consumed by an Inferno. Still, he dimly registered the upward arc of Farrar's arm through the numbing fog in his mind.

Instead of a rush of heat and light however, he was bowled over by a roaring blast of air that ripped him from Zaba's grasp and flung the two of them in opposite directions. Nathaniel hit the floor limply and skidded a few feet across its glossy surface before coming to rest a few inches from one of Farrar's stylish high-heeled shoes. Farrar herself was close by, her head at an awkward angle from where she had been slammed into a wall by the…whatever had happened.

_Hurricane, _the small still-functional part of his brain supplied._Mid-level spell of the element of air. First observed by arcane zoologist Carolus Linnaeus in the year 1735. Favoured enchantment of sylphs, sprites, pixies, and other wind-related spirits. Well known applications of the spell include its use by the djinni Ariel to cause a shipwreck on behalf of its master the great magician Prospero, as well as…_

_Thank you, that's enough information, _he told his addled mind which seemed unusually intent on running in circles.

"I _said_ hands off." Bartimaeus' voice filtered through his ears.

"Move a step further and the boy dies," Zaba snarled. The Emperor had gotten a hold of Farrar's inferno stick and was pointing it intermittently between Nathaniel and Bartimaeus.

The djinni raised his palms and paused his approach.

"Why don't you put that down, Zaba," he said carefully. "We both know a bit of sub-par canned magic isn't going to take me down, and if you kill that kid you'll lose what little leverage you have over me. Face it, you're cornered."

Nathaniel sat up shakily on his knees. His stomach was rolling uncomfortably; displeased with the number of head injuries he'd taken that day.

Zaba laughed a wavering, unhinged sort of laugh. "You think that coming in here and smacking around a few of my men means something? No. The real battle is taking place out _there_–" He pointed toward the gilded arc of the abbey's main entrance, "Where a handful of unarmed, untrained commoners think they stand a chance against my personal guard."

The djinni's features twisted into a grim smirk. "You my friend are in for a nasty surprise. You don't know Kitty and you don't know London. Better to face off with the two of us here then take your chances with the angry mob. At least _we're_ likely to make it quick."

Zaba's lips thinned into a pale, angry line. "A lot of bravado from a mere middling spirit," he hissed.

Bartimaeus' face was utterly impassive, but Nathaniel could see the flicker of the djinni's eyes that watched the wobbly arc of the Inferno Stick as it bobbed back and forth between Nathaniel and himself. "I've killed far better magicians than you," he threatened. "Ramses, Medea, Agrippa, Faust…after all that I should hardly think _you_ would pose a problem."

The exceedingly dismissive inflection of the word '_you_' had the megalomaniacal Emperor chomping at the bit. His face had shot from its previous pallor to a hot flush that spread up to his hairline.

"Well–" He choked out, grasping for words with difficulty through his anger, "Well, perhaps _this_ will change your mind!"

Nathaniel blinked numbly as Zaba reached towards his throat and firmly grasped the pendant that rested against his chest. The back of his neck stung as the chain gave with a sharp snap and came away in the Emperor's fist.

"How's _this_for a challenge?" Zaba snarled, holding the necklace before Bartimaeus' widening eyes. The emperor smiled grimly.

"_Anoi_-"

Luckily for Bartimaeus, Zaba never completed the command.

The cause of this interruption took the form of a scraggly grayish blur that tackled the magician from behind in a furious knot of thrashing bone-like limbs.

"You can't get away with this," Karl Kavka wheezed as he tore at Zaba's well manicured hair, "I won't let you!"

_Herodotus' Collar of Indefinite Entrapment _slipped harmlessly to the floor as Zaba moved to extricate himself from the cadaverous young man's spidery grip.

The emancipated Karl was not a particularly fearsome opponent, and after a moment's struggle, Zaba thrust him easily off his feet. The sickly young man flew backwards, striking his head on the steps to the altar with a gut-wrenching crack.

Zaba would snap the withered young man like a twig if someone didn't stop him.

Nathaniel hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, prepared to throw himself at the Emperor if need be. He took a running step forward, only to stumble to his knees once more as the floor quivered beneath his feet.

_Boom_!

Something rumbled in the distance.

_Boom!_ It was closer now, sending tremors through the building that knocked the sconces from the walls and carved hairline cracks through the floor.

_Boom! Boom!_

All four men stilled, sending each other nervous glances and trying to decide whether to bolt.

There was a crash, and the building shuttered violently as a pair of misshapen grey shoulders pushed through the north wall of the building in a shower of splinters. A rough-shaped giant lumbered inside, followed by another and another.

"The golems!" Karl cried weakly.

As if responding to his voice, they moved as one to stand before him, returning obediently to their master who lay helplessly across the platform steps with Zaba standing over him. The emperor let out a choking sound as he found himself suddenly fenced in.

They towered above him for a moment, and Zaba stared upwards in surprised alarm, lost in a forest of towering mud pillars. And that was when the magic dissolved.

The vague human-shapes of the golems gave out with a groan and sixty five tons of stinking river sludge crashed down, slamming His Excellency flat into the floor and burying him completely before Karl's astonished eyes.

Karl lay immobile where he had fallen, his chest heaving unsteadily.

After a moment's hesitation, Nathaniel moved forward.

"…Is he dead?"

"I hope so, for his own sake," said Bartimaeus, wrinkling his nose distastefully at the heaping pile of fetid clay. "That's not the sort of thing that comes out in the wash."

There was a soft groan and Nathaniel turned to see Jane Farrar slowly come to. He strode towards her immediately, kicking away the Inferno Stick that lay forgotten by her side as he went.

"Sleep well, sister dearest?" He asked innocently, hauling her up by the arm. Farrar glared back, looking like she was seriously considering spitting in his face.

"Unhand me, imbecile. This isn't over!"

"Zaba's dead," he replied frankly.

Farrar's eyes burned with fury. "Do you think _that_ could stop me?"

Nathaniel's eyes slipped downward, lingering over the simple Egyptian amulet that hung against her chest, as it had every day for the past three years.

"No," he said, "I suppose I don't." He moved suddenly, ripping the golden disk from about her neck. Farrar shrieked in rage and made to snatch it back, but he held it just out of her reach.

"That's why I suppose we'd better hold on to this for you." He held it out to Bartimaeus who received it with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, I've got to draw the line somewhere Nat," he said. "First it was the Amulet of Samarkand, then that Indefinite Entrapment whatsit, and now this… are you some kind of kleptomaniac, or are you just thinking of starting up a jewelry shop?"

"That's not just any old trinket," Nathaniel replied, "That's what Jane used to bring me back."

The djinni stared at him. "As in…?"

At Nathaniel's nod, Bartimaeus ran his thumb pensively over the engraving in the centre, his face unreadable.

"I suppose generously _giving you your life back_was a fatal mistake," Farrar snapped, "I should have known better than to expect gratitude."

With a final desperate yank, she managed to twist out of Nathaniel's grasp and sprinted for the exit. "It won't happen again!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Triumphantly, she thrust open the doors, smirking madly at her neat escape.

Only to stop dead in her tracks.

Beyond the open portal, scores of people thronged around the threshold of the Abbey. Their sheer mass clogged the doorway as they pushed past each other in an effort to enter, each face sweaty, exhausted and laughing. One was particularly familiar.

"Going somewhere?" Kitty Jones asked innocently as all of London surged forward behind her.

Farrar reeled back from the smirking dark-haired girl, and Nathaniel caught her arm as she backed up into him, nearly treading on his foot.

"Sorry Farrar, the game's up," he said.

"I'm afraid all of those nice soldiers you worked so hard to bring here are all dead or fleeing," Piper added, taking her other arm and shooting Nathaniel a wink.

He spotted the Hyrneks in the crowd as well; Grandmamma was bouncing on the tips of her toes in an effort to see over the heads of the press of people around her. As Nathaniel met her sharp black eyes she poked the tip of her umbrella up in the air and called out to him in her shrill little voice.

"_Jsme osvobozeni!_ London belongs to London once again!"

oooooooooooooo

It was sheer chaos beneath the vast fan-vaulted roof of Westminster Abbey, but a good kind of chaos – the celebratory, victorious kind full of chatter and cheering and everyone rushing to and fro, attempting to set things in order.

None of us really had a handle on what was going on anymore – I for one, had completely lost track of which group of especially zealous crowd members had lead Jane away, and whether she'd been lynched, hauled off to prison, or had somehow managed to escape was anyone's guess.

Like all mobs, Kitty's army was starting to get a bit unruly. A fair few were finding it difficult to snap out of destruction-mode now that the fighting was over and had taken to knocking over artwork and vandalizing the walls. Others saw the opportunity for a bit of good old-fashioned plundering and were stuffing their pockets with all manner of golden objects. A handful of rambunctious teenagers were even dancing through the nave, tripping over the brave souls attempting to dig Zaba's body out of the heaps of sludge.

I caught sight of Kitty from across the room as she stood on top of a chair and surveyed her scattered forces with a frown.

"London!" she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard above the din. The room fell silent instantly.

A wonderful smile graced Kitty's face. "London, you are free!" she called. "Zaba is gone, Farrar is gone; by your own hand you've driven the Czech magicians and their soldiers from Britain. No longer will we be ruled by magicians or Emperors, but instead by our own rightful Prime Minister!" She motioned for Piper to join her up on her makeshift platform, and the audience gave an uproarious applause.

Over the heads of the crowd, her eyes met mine.

My fingers clenched reflexively over Farrar's amulet as her face lit up and she stepped down, elbowing her way through the crowd toward me. Vaguely I was aware that Piper was reciting some sort of victory speech, but she could have been speaking Martian for all I could understand her at that moment.

Kitty broke free of the crowd and ran the remaining distance between us. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laughed a free, unrestrained sort of laugh that brought to mind water pouring over the edges of a fountain.

"You're okay," she said.

"I wouldn't dare be otherwise after all your threatening," I joked.

Kitty was positively giddy with triumph; I hadn't seen her grin like this in ages. I, on the other hand, was growing more apprehensive by the second. The solid weight of the gold amulet in my hand was sobering, and I detached myself from Kitty, leading her a little further away from the crowd.

Kitty's smile wavered. "What is it?"

I fidgeted with the length of chain, twisting it uneasily between my fingers. "I need to talk to you about something," I told her. "Something that Nat lifted off Farrar a moment ago."

I lifted the chain, letting the simple oval amulet hang ominously between us. Kitty raised an eyebrow, as if to ask how a silly magic bauble could possibly be worth impinging on her celebratory mood.

"This," I told her, allowing the amulet to rest in my palm once more, "Is the artifact Farrar used to bring Nathaniel back to life."

Kitty looked shocked. "Nathaniel was resurrected? I didn't realize he had literally died in the first place! Is that sort of thing even possible? How could a single artifact hold that much power?"

"Those are very good questions, but you're missing the point."

"And what _is_ the point?"

She tipped her chin to the side in curious amusement, and tangles of curly dark hair swept forward to frame her pale face. I realized this was going to be hard.

"Kitty," I said, not looking at her, "It's an amulet that brings the dead to life. And for the past two weeks you've been a dead woman walking."

Kitty tapped a foot impatiently. "What are you saying? That I should use it to come back to life?"

"You died so young." I told her, "Now you get the chance to have your life back. You can stay here instead of being forced to pass eternity in the Other Place."

Kitty was silent, and I got the feeling she was staring hard at me. I snuck a glance at her face. She was frowning, her serious eyes holding none of their former jubilation.

"Why would I want to stay here?" she finally asked.

"Just don't forget about me for too long when you…wait, what did you say?"

Kitty shrugged. "I'm not interested in 'having my life back,' as you call it."

"…But, what about Nathaniel?" The damning question slipped out before I could stop it, and I gave myself a mental kick in the head.

"What about him?" Kitty asked, looking puzzled.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, feeling my face begin to burn. "He's… well, the two of you…" I made some vague gestures with one hand.

Kitty blinked in surprise. "What? You think I like him?"

I nodded miserably.

She gave a choked, incredulous sound in response. "That's ridiculous! Nathaniel and I can barely tolerate each other!"

I eyed her skeptically.

"I beat him up on a regular basis!" she insisted.

"And would that be honest aggression, or just plain old pent up sexual tension?"

Kitty threw her hands into the air. "I can't believe this!"

"Face it Kitty, you're just like the proverbial little boy on the playground who pulls the pigtails of the girl he secretly likes."

"_What?_"

"I can't fault your taste. The kid's young, smart... maybe a bit on the scrawny side and his face ain't what it used to be, but you bleeding hearts tend to go for the tastefully scarred, brooding, angsty sort, after all."

By this point, Kitty's face was flushed and angry and I was seriously worried that I was about to receive a Detonation to the face.

"I do _not _want_ Nathaniel!_" Kitty all but shouted, "If you think he's so great, _you_ can have him!"

"Take the amulet; get your life back. You can nurture him back to health, cure all those emotional wounds, beat some sense into him from time to time… Come on Kitty, admit that that sounds pretty good to you."

"Stop it!"

"Kitty, just take it!" I thrust the amulet out, so close to her face she had to go cross-eyed in order to look at it.

"You know what?" She was seething, "You know _what_? Fine! If you're going to make me stay here than I guess I have no choice!"

She reached roughly for the artifact, intending perhaps to snatch it from me and storm away, but something odd happened.

I didn't let go.

I wanted to, had planned to, but somehow my fingers refused to relinquish their grip. Glaring at me, Kitty yanked harder, attempting to rip it from my hand, but I held fast, causing the situation to quickly devolve into a furious game of tug-of-war.

"Are you going to give it to me or not?" Kitty shouted.

I twisted my wrist and the amulet slipped from her grip. Swiftly I tucked it behind my back, safely out of her reach.

We stared at each other, gasping for breath.

"Give it to me," she demanded, holding out her hand.

I stared at the graceful curve of the five slender fingers and empty, expectant palm.

"Kitty…I don't want you to go," I finally admitted to her, no longer able to do the magnanimous thing and just let everybody else be happy without me. "I can't let you do it. Even if you and Nat…well um, _especially_ if you and Nat–"

Kitty cut me off with a roll of her eyes. "Shut up about Nathaniel, you thundering idiot," she said.

Then she reached forward and grasped the front of my shirt as if to prevent me from backing away. Which was ridiculous, seeing as how I was effectively paralyzed by Kitty's proximity anyway.

And then she kissed me.

Just like that.

I could feel the soft flutter of her eyelashes against my cheek, and somehow I found my hands winding themselves into the loose curls of her hair.

Were we upside down? I could have sworn we were, though it made no sense. The dizzy, disoriented feeling I was experiencing could be explained no other way.

A moment of agonizing happiness later, she tipped her head back to look up at me with laughing eyes.

"So do you still think I'm in love with Nathaniel?" she teased.

"I don't know," I said, matching her tone, "I think I might need a little more convincing."

She swatted my shoulder in mock offence and wound her arm through mine as she turned to look around the room, which was thankfully crowded enough that our little melodrama had gone unnoticed.

The amulet was suddenly in Kitty's hands and I had no clue how she'd gotten a hold of it. I stomped down the urge to snatch it back, because there wasn't a chance in hell that I'd let her change her mind now, but the calm weight of her head on my shoulder convinced me she wasn't planning on running off to resurrect herself quite yet.

"You know," she said contemplatively, letting the heavy pendant dangle from the long gold chain, "I think I know someone who needs this a lot more than I do."

It was a nice sentiment and all, especially if my suspicions were correct as to which particular person she was referring too. In fact, there were probably lots of people in need of the amulet's power, considering we'd just been through a battle and all…

"Later," I murmured, cupping Kitty's face and pulling her close once again.


	23. Epilogue

A/N: This is it guys – the last of the story. Thanks for reading! It's been a pleasure to get your reviews and I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to especially thank everyone who drew fan art for the story (take a look at my profile for links!) as well as my lovely beta Lady Noir for her corrections. So here you go, and I'll see you around!

PS: Have you guys heard the news? Jonathan Stroud has announced on his website that there's a new Bartimaeus book coming out next year!

* * *

"I think this is it."

The simple observation was made with a resigned sigh as a tiny lop-sided house emerged from the impenetrable shadows of the street. It was hard to tell by the light of the sliver of cloud-choked moon, but Kitty was fairly certain it was even smaller and shabbier than the Hyrnek's previous residence. Not that the family couldn't have afforded better – after the uprising, the government had offered to replace the Hyrnek's burnt out home with whatever they wished, but it seemed the family preferred the comfortable squalor they had always lived in.

With a curse, Kitty tripped up the front steps, nearly unbalancing the djinni behind her whose fingers were firmly entwined with her own.

"You'd think they'd have picked an address with streetlamps," she muttered, rubbing her knee.

"That'd be too easy," her companion replied lightly, steadying her shoulders, "This is just the first trial you have to overcome for the honour of seeing the Hyrneks. Next is the fire-breathing dragon, and then you've got to face old Grandmamma in mortal combat."

Kitty rolled her eyes and carefully continued her ascent, blindly feeling out each footstep before moving forward. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned her head in an attempt to discern the djinni, invisible in the darkness.

"We're almost finished," she said quietly.

Behind her, Bartimaeus sighed dramatically and she imagined him rubbing his eyes in a great show of weariness. "Do we _have_ to do this? We've had a long day – a long few days. I bet the Hyrneks would understand if we skipped out on them just this once."

Kitty secretly agreed; the past week had almost been worse than the two preceding it. Every moment of every day it seemed there was interviews to be given, rubble to restore, inaugurations to preside over, speeches to be made, explanations to be had, gatherings to attend – everyone wanted a piece of her, snatching away at her time until she found herself run ragged. She seemed to have developed a permanent migraine that constantly jack-hammered away between her eyes until her brain threatened to liquefy and spill out her ears. She was in desperate need of some peace, quiet, and time alone.

_Well…_She snuck a glance over at her dark-haired companion, _maybe not completely alone._

"Cheer up," Kitty said, trying to sound optimistic, "This is our last stop, and then it's back to the Other Place. You can wait a few hours, can't you?"

"Waiting is something I've never been particularly good at," Bartimaeus grumbled. "And who ever heard of two spirits being invited over for dinner? What exactly do they plan on feeding us?"

"Aren't you curious?" Kitty teased.

"Seems like they're just trying to delay our departure," the djinni huffed, "Obviously the poor souls can't do without us."

"Well, you can't blame them for that," Kitty said easily, swinging the front door open and gesturing Bartimaeus inside with a chivalrous sweep of her hand.

The front hall of the Hyrnek household was even darker than outside, and infinitely more silent.

"Anyone home?" she called tentatively. There was no answer.

She wandered further inside, wondering if this was the wrong house after all.

"I think we've been stood up," said Bartimaeus, sounding quite affronted. She felt a stir of air as he reached past her for the lamp on the side table, but on a sudden whim she caught his arm before it reached its destination.

"You know," she murmured playfully, reeling him in by the wrist, "This is the first time in ages that we've actually been _alone_ together for more than three seconds."

Bartimaeus' bare feet scuffed softly against the carpet as he allowed himself to be dragged forward. "Hmm, so I'm not the only one whose mind's been wandering."

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she detected a hint of a laugh in his voice. It was dark – too dark – to distinguish the djinni's features, and so instead she reached up to read his expression with the tips of her fingers. Feather-light, they skimmed over the slant of his eyebrows, down the ridge of his nose, traced the upward curve of his lips.

"Stop smirking," she warned him upon completing her tactile translation, and then promptly leaned in to taste said smug expression.

Against her lips, she felt his smile widen.

"You know," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, "I'm not sure this is what the Hyrneks intended when they invited us over."

"_Shhh_."

Kitty let her eyes fall shut. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer. Suddenly it didn't matter that her back ached, or that her shoes were pinching her feet. Such trifles were lost in the upwelling of happiness and relief that threatened to spill over into an upwelling of giddy laughter. She stumbled backward, drawing them further into the house.

"Surprise!" a chorus of dissonant voices suddenly called out.

It was at that moment that the lights flipped on, and the room was shot through with unrelenting white radiance.

For one scary moment, Kitty was certain she was having a heart attack.

The Hyrneks' kitchen was packed with people, and every single one of them wore identical expressions of awkward astonishment. Rebecca Piper stood near the door, finger still pressed against the light switch, her mouth frozen into a little round "o" of shock.

"…Surprise _what_?" Bartimaeus squeaked out. Kitty cast a sidelong look his way, reddening at the sight of his suspiciously rumpled hair.

"Erm…a going-away party. We wanted to throw you two a celebration before you left for the Other Place," said Piper, nervously twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "We didn't mean to, uh…interrupt."

"Never mind all that," Mrs. Hyrnek bustled forward to their rescue, "Take this, dear." Kitty immediately found a large plate of chocolate cake shoved into her numb hands.

"Thanks," she said weakly, poking the spongy brown slab with her fork. The tension in the room finally broke and the guests set to chattering brightly amongst themselves and devouring Mrs. Hyrnek's cake.

"I told you we should have stood them up," Bartimaeus whispered, sliding closer once all eyes were no longer on them. Kitty took the opportunity to smooth down his hair and saddle him with the inedible human dessert.

"It's our own fault for not cluing in earlier."

"Hello, you two!" Kitty turned to see Nathaniel pushing his way towards them, an uncharacteristically silly grin plastered over his face.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked wryly, "I swear I tried to talk them out of it."

"If only you'd succeeded." Kitty moaned, "I can't believe we didn't notice a room full of this many people."

"And all packed in like a tin of sardines too," said Bartimaeus, "It looks like pretty much everybody is here."

Kitty followed the djinni's gaze to where two thin, dark-haired young people spoke quietly in the corner.

"The Kavkas," she said in surprise. She hadn't expected Karl and his sister to attend.

"Maybe I should give this to the old boy," Bartimaeus gave the chocolaty lump on his plate a dubious glance, "Poor kid could use the extra calories."

"Well, at least he's recovering," Kitty pointed out, "He looks a lot less peaky now that he's been reunited with his sister."

"Ironic isn't it? Not three weeks ago she coordinated your assassination, and now here our friends are serving her coffee and chatting away amiably."

Kitty shrugged. "It wasn't Mia's fault, really. She did it to protect someone she cared about. I might have done the same thing in her position."

"Now let's not be overly generous here. You're a humanitarian, and she's some kind of covert super-spy."

Kitty might have contested the djinni's statement, but at that moment something caught her eye.

"Well just look who's here," she said almost under her breath.

Perched on the edge of a fraying couch cushion was a rail-thin, red haired young man, looking rather overwhelmed by the pulse and energy of the party around him. Kitty drew closer, pulling Bartimaeus along behind her.

"Well," she announced, "Just look at you! All living and everything."

James Bostwick glanced up with a start, flushing deeply.

"Ms. Jones!" He leapt clumsily to his feet, red wine slopping over the rim of the glass in his hand and spattering over his trousers.

"Still the same as always, I see," said Bartimaeus dryly. Kitty was more charitable.

"Good to see you up and at 'em," she said with a smile, "That amulet is really something else. Everything alright? You've still got all your fingers and toes?"

Bostwick nodded uncertainly.

"You're lucky your body was so well preserved. Nat wasn't quite so fortunate, and _you_ could have turned out even _worse_. For all we knew the procedure would've turned you into a…how did you put it again Bartimaeus?"

"A ravening monster of Frankensteinian proportions, held together by an unholy union of putrefied flesh and black magic?"

"Yes, that was it."

Bostwick gulped. "Well I'm glad you did it anyways, even if there was potential for danger. Thank you. And not just for my life – for everything. Zaba, Farrar, Nouda, the magicians…" the youth ran his fingers nervously through his red hair and smiled shyly. "You really _are_ a legend Ms. Jones. I can't believe you were with us that whole time we were investigating your murder!"

Bartimaeus coughed conspicuously. "_Ahem,_ I believe I was involved in this little incident too!"

"Of course! You have my thanks as well Bartimaeus. Without your help I'd never have lasted as long as I did."

"Now _there_'s an understatement," the djinni muttered.

"So then," Kitty asked, "What are you going to do now?"

"Well," Bostwick shifted his nearly-empty wineglass from hand to hand. "Ms. Piper did offer me Farrar's job, but I fear I'm not really cut out for that sort of thing. They really ought to have someone competent in charge of the Police Department, don't you think? So the position is going to be taken over by someone else." His eyes strayed reflexively across the room and fell upon a head of long, dark hair.

"Nathaniel?" said Bartimaeus, "Wow, it sure didn't take him long to get his finger back in the metaphorical pie."

"He's asked me to become his assistant," said Bostwick. "I know I'm not much, but Mr. Mandrake's convinced he can make a proper magician out of me."

"Nat does have his talents," Bartimaeus allowed, "Just promise me that if you do get the hang of things, you won't turn into some sort of maniacal, Machiavelli-wannabe, okay? Magic seems to have that effect on people."

Their conversation was interrupted by the clear ringing chime of a spoon against a wineglass.

"Can I have your attention everyone?" Piper called out. The room fell silent. "As you all know, Kitty and Bartimaeus are going home tonight. Since this may be my last chance for a long time, I'd like to thank them for their aid in our fight against the Czech Empire. Without your help, I doubt anyone would have lifted a finger to resist the invasion."

A round of applause broke out among the party guests. Piper lifted a hand to quiet them and continued.

"With Mr. Mandrake's assistance included of course, I don't think anyone's done as much for Britain as the two of you. Kathleen, my only regret is that this latest entanglement has cost you your life – or at least, your life as it once was." Piper smirked. "But you seem to be making the best of it."

Kitty shot Piper a red-faced glare, but the Prime Minister just continued with a wink. "On behalf of London, on behalf of Britain, I'd like to formally express our gratitude. I assure you that you will never again be summoned against your will, or forced to comply with someone's orders. So, good luck with your life in the Other Place. You've earned a happy ending."

There was another round of applause, and then a good hour of shaking people's hands as they came up to thank Bartimaeus and Kitty personally. By the time people began trickling out into the night with waved farewells, Kitty was completely exhausted.

"Well, that was nice," said Mrs. Hyrnek as the last guest was ushered out the door. "There's nothing like a party to break in a new home properly."

Bartimaeus heaved a sigh and threw himself down on the couch in a sprawl of limbs. "Sure it was. Now could someone _please_ bring out the chalk? I don't think my essence can take much more of this."

Kitty, too, was beginning to feel an uncomfortable cramp in her essence. Three weeks was a rather lengthy time for a summons to last, and the effort of holding a form together was wearying. Nathaniel obliged, helping Piper roll back the rug as the Hyrneks gathered supplies together. Soon a flowing circle of runes was inscribed upon the floor, and Bartimaeus stepped carefully into their midst.

"Well," he said breezily, "It's been fun you guys. Be sure to call us up the next time the world needs saving."

"No doubt we'll be seeing you again soon, then," Piper joked.

Nathaniel stepped forward. "Take care," he said fondly, raising a hand to begin the ritual.

"Hey, Nat…" the djinni interrupted, shifting awkwardly, "Before I go… Well, I wanted to say something to you back when you dismissed me and I thought you'd died, and now that it turns out your alive I'll kick myself if I don't say it." He took a deep breath and looked the young magician in the eye. "You're an okay guy."

He offered his hand, but Nathaniel bypassed it in favour of a brief, one-armed hug.

"You're not so bad yourself," he said, "I'll be seeing you around."

With candles lit and farewells said, Nathaniel began the dismissal. As the last syllables of the incantation rang out, Bartimaeus turned to Kitty.

"See you on the other side," He said with a wink, and then he was gone.

There was a moment of quiet as Nathaniel wiped the sweat from his brow and regained his breath. "Now that just leaves you," he said to Kitty.

She laughed at his worn out expression. "Don't worry, I'll just use the pentacle we already have." She drew her foot across the boundary, smearing the chalk symbols. Then hugging both Piper and Nathaniel in quick succession, she sat down in the centre of the circle.

"Summon us again soon," she ordered, and began the backward phrases of Ptolemy's Gate.

Wisps of soft, white mist collected at the edges of the pentacle as she spoke, rising until she was completely obscured from view. When the smoke cleared, the pentacle on the floor was empty, leaving only cool breeze and the dull ring of magic.

It was only Piper and Nathaniel left in the room, and the silence bore down heavily in the wake of the recent chaos and excitement.

Piper leaned over to blow out a long wax candle, and began to gather up the magic paraphernalia that dotted the Hyrnek's floor.

"So," she said, "How long until they get bored silly and beg us to summon them back here?"

Nathaniel smirked. "Who knows? They do have each other there after all."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right. It sure took them long enough to get together, didn't it?"

Nathaniel gave a monosyllabic sound of agreement, paused, and cleared his throat. "Hey, Rebecca," he said, "Once we've got things cleaned up in here, how about dinner?"

Piper hid a smile in her sleeve. "I'd love to," she replied.

oooooooooooooo

The rhythmic flow of the Other Place was a welcome relief. The rippling energies of my homeland passed through me and around me as I waited there, Ptolemy merely a small lone figure amongst the vast formlessness that spread to infinity in all directions. A moment or a year later – it was impossible to discern one from the other in this timeless place – the loose patterns of the swirling mist were shaken to pieces by the thunderous echo of magic.

_'Bartimaeus…Bartimaeus…Bartimaeus,'_ my name was called three times. It struck me then that this was exactly how our adventure had begun that fateful Christmas Eve, those three words echoing out over the empty expanse, in search of me. Time had turned around – we'd come a full circle now, and it seemed appropriate that it was ending where it had begun.

Suddenly, Kitty was there.

She was looking this way and that, attempting to peer through the hanging fog as she tucked tangled brown curls behind her ears. Her dark eyes lit up as she spotted me, and I caught her in my arms as she rushed forward. In this land of circular, unstructured time I was no longer alone, and Kitty was the only one I wanted to spend eternity with.

"I'm home," she said, and she looked so happy I had to kiss her.

A flurry of flustered activity rolled through the mists, and a stir of disembodied voices rose up in a scandalized chatter. Ancient spirits were such gossips.

"Hey," said Kitty, taking my chin in her hand and turning my head back toward her, "Don't mind those incorporeal voyeurs. We have more important things to concern ourselves with."

And indeed we did.


End file.
